


sideways

by whaticameherefor



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Canonical Character Death, EMT! Ian, Getting Back Together, Ian Gallagher Redemption, M/M, Mickey getting out of prison, Mutual Pining, Projectionist! Mickey, Recreational Drug Use, Season 6/7 Fix it, Sexy Times, Shameless Big Bang, Slow(ish) Burn, Smut, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-11-02 00:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20556926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whaticameherefor/pseuds/whaticameherefor
Summary: Ian attempts to make amends. Mickey tries to stay strong."Whenever you come around meThese feelings won't go awayThey've been knockin' me sidewaysI keep thinking in a moment thatTime will take them awayBut these feelings won't go away"





	1. Lost On You

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello there! Welcome to my first Gallavich fic! This is also the longest thing I've ever written and my first multi-chapter so you're getting all the goods. Many thanks to my patient beta, @wideblueskies, and talented artist, @damnnmilkovich for working with me this Big Bang. Inspired by Citizen Cope's "Sideways" and a few other songs which you'll see in chapter titles with some lyrics incorporated throughout because I'm a slut for a songfic ;)
> 
> Just some housekeeping: we're operating on a Shameless timeline here, because it's difficult to stick to realistic time frames when canon doesn't. Also, I based all the legal stuff on research I did, but used creative license when I needed to because at the end of the day, I do what I want. Also, this is a season 6/7 fix it fic, so some stuff happened or will happen, maybe not in the same way or when it did in the show. But again, I do what I want.
> 
> P.S. One asterisk marks the passage of time, three denotes POV change.
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think!

* * *

  
“Milkovich! Rise and shine, sweetheart!”   
  
Mickey’s lounging on his bunk, eyes closed, attempting to get some midday shut-eye when the CO’s voice booms out at him, effectively ruining any chances of a nice little nap. Prison. Never a moment’s peace.   
  
“Come on, on your feet, inmate, let’s go.”  
  
Mickey swings his legs over the side, getting up leisurely and sauntering over to the cell door. “What’d I do this time?  
  
“Shockingly, nothing,” the guard answers. “You’ve got a visitor.”  
  
“The fuck?” He asks, more to himself than anything. It’s been a long ass time since anyone came to see him. Months since Mandy was in town, even longer since Svetlana dropped by with the kid ordering another hit. Even longer since…  
  
“Get a move on.” It’s the second time the correctional officer’s jolted him into action and Mickey knows he shouldn’t try for a third, so he starts walking down the halls, stopping at each checkpoint so the guard can unlock each gate. It’s still second nature to him even though he hasn’t been this way for a long time.  
  
As he approaches the visiting area he catches sight of pale hands, long fingers tapping anxiously against the tabletop, and he freezes. He knows those hands. Intimately. He’d know them anywhere, clearly, since he’s recognized them from yards away behind a dirty, scratched to shit piece of fiberglass. He almost turns back. Not ready to see the person those hands belong to and yet, annoyingly, wanting to see _ him _more than anything. Mickey doesn’t want to give him any more power than he already has by showing up here unannounced, throwing Mickey for a fucking loop, so he schools his features and puts one foot in front of the other until he’s standing in front of the two way glass window, his worst nightmare and sweetest daydream all wrapped up in one.  
  
Ian looks up when he feels Mickey’s presence and eagerly grabs the phone off the wall. Mickey hovers for a moment, still amazed and confused that Ian’s here, especially after the way they had left things last time.   
  
Ian takes the receiver and taps it against the glass, urging Mickey to sit and pick up his own phone. Mickey rolls his eyes and huffs but takes a seat and does as requested.  
  
Ian’s eyes flick all over his body, seemingly drinking him in before he speaks. “Hey.”  
  
_ What an opening line _, Mickey thinks sarcastically.  
  
“Hey,” he returns. Because what else is he supposed to say? “So, how much did you get for coming this time?”  
  
Ian flinches and hangs his head, nodding a few times before bringing his eyes back up to meet Mickey’s. “I deserve that.”   
  
“No shit.”  
  
“You look good,” Ian tells him, clearly grasping for a conversation starter that deflects from bad memories but coming up short.  
  
“Yeah, turns out not doing Svet’s bidding anymore helps keep me outta trouble. Less fighting that way.” Mickey rubs at his eyebrow, a nervous tick he knows he should rein in but this, sitting here, talking to Ian through the plexiglass, is so fucking weird, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do so Ian can’t tell what he’s thinking. He knows Ian’s always been able to read him like a fuckin’ book.   
  
Ian looks relieved and Mickey takes the opportunity to really look at the man across the glass. Last time Ian had been there, he still looked so lost, so unsure. Could barely look Mickey in the eye. Not as skinny as he was at the height of his mania or his lowest moment of depression, but skinny nonetheless.   
  
At the time, Mickey couldn’t tell if Ian was on meds, if he was still adjusting, or what the fuck was going on with him. And he sure as shit wasn’t going to ask, knowing what a point of contention his concern over Ian’s bipolar disorder had been in the past. But still, he knew Ian wasn’t quite right, so he let himself believe that was why Ian acted the way he did that day. The more time went on, the more Mickey realized it didn’t fucking matter why Ian had done the things he’d done, said the things he’d said. It had happened and that was that. He fucking accepted it, finally. Ian never came back after that day he said he would wait, after Mickey begged him to lie, after Mickey pleaded with him so he had something to hold on to. He thought he was moving on. Two seconds staring into those hopeful green eyes proved just how wrong he’d been.  
  
The Ian sitting before him has filled out, looks a hell of a lot healthier. His eyes are clear and his skin glows, pale and perfect, littered with freckles if you looked close enough, and god, Mickey wants to. It reminds him of the kid he fell in love with all those years ago and he pushes that thought violently from his mind. Still, he can’t help himself. “You look good, too.”  
  
Ian nods. “Yeah, I feel good. I uh- got my shit together. Took a while, wasn’t exactly easy, but I think I got everything... under control,” he finishes lamely. Mickey can tell Ian has a lot more to say, more that he wants to tell him, but doesn’t want to start spilling his guts if Mickey will just shut him down like he used to before everything changed between them. His heart stutters at the thought of Ian being unsure around him, but he supposes that’s just the way it is now. How it should be.  
  
Mickey considers him for a moment. “Good for you, man. About time.”  
  
Ian laughs uncomfortably and readjusts his grip on the phone. “Yeah, it is. Thanks for seeing me.”  
  
“They didn’t say who was here, so…”  
  
“Would you have come if you knew?”  
  
Mickey purses his lips, knowing the answer and hating himself for it, but again needing to hold onto some of the power in this fucked up dynamic, he just shrugs.  
  
“Right,” Ian audibly exhales in relief. “I wasn’t even sure I was still on your list.”  
  
Mickey shrugs again. “Kinda thought I’d never see you again. Didn’t see the point.”   
  
“Fair enough.” Ian searches Mickey’s face, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. “Gonna take me off now?”  
  
“Depends how the rest of this conversation goes today.”  
  
Ian’s lips quirk into a small smile as he says, “Lotta pressure.”  
  
He doesn’t want to, but Mickey can’t help return a small smile of his own. Kicking himself for letting Ian charm him even a little bit, he scowls quickly and tries to regain the upper hand. “The fuck you doing here, Gallagher? This some kind of twelve steps bullshit? We gonna have a come to Jesus moment right now?”  
  
Ian huffs out a laugh, his eyes falling to his hands fiddling with the phone cord. “No, no, nothing like that but, I’ve been thinking, thinking clearly anyways, for a little while now and I just thought it was time.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“To try and fix all the things I fucked up before I accepted I was, ya know… sick. Take some responsibility. Right the wrongs, all that shit. Been saving the biggest mistake for last, I guess.” His face lifts up again and Mickey can see a million emotions flash in his eyes. “Us. The way things ended. The fact that it ended at all.”  
  
Mickey takes a deep breath. Tries to hide the emotion swelling inside him, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. He doesn’t have the words right now, he’s not sure what would come tumbling out of his mouth if he let anything slip through. He wasn’t expecting this today - wasn’t expecting it ever, if he was being honest with himself. But to have Ian in front of him admitting he fucked up - it’s just too much.   
  
“You don’t have to say anything,” Ian offers, seeing Mickey’s internal conflict, because whether he likes it or not, Ian could always, _ always _tell what Mickey was thinking, even when his words and actions contradicted his thoughts. “I wasn’t expecting anything when I decided to come here. I’m just hoping you let me see you again. I wanna see you again.”  
  
Mickey bites his lip nervously, drawing Ian’s eyes to his mouth. Something Mickey doesn’t want to name flickers in Ian’s eyes and he feels that same feeling building deep inside him, something he hasn’t felt in a very long time. He wants to shove it back down. He wants to let it all out. Five minutes with this man and his whole world is fucked. Again. Still. He thought the time and the distance would help him forget. But he should have known better. Should have known that these feelings he’d been harboring for years wouldn’t just go away, no matter how much or how many times he tried to rid himself of them.   
  
Mickey was a fool. For a lot of reasons, he thinks, but most of all, for thinking he could ever fall out of love with Ian Gallagher.   
  
Ian looks up at Mickey through his lashes, vulnerable and open and _ fuck him _. He could never deny Ian when he looked at him like that. It took all his strength not to crumble and fall at Ian’s feet right then and there.  
  
“Can I see you again?”  
  
The loud buzz overhead signals the end of visiting hour and all around them people start wrapping up conversations, visitors shuffling back to the real world and inmates returning back to their cells.  
  
“Do whatever the fuck you want, man.”  
  
Ian’s smile at Mickey’s response is almost blinding, knowing that’s probably the best answer he could have gotten, given the circumstances. Mickey wants to grab him, pull Ian into him and kiss the stupid smile right off his face.  
  
“Okay,” Ian says, eyeing the guard motioning for him to wrap it up. “See you soon, Mick.”  
  
“Sure, Gallagher. See ya.”  
  
Mickey’s mind is racing a million miles an hour on the walk back to the shoebox he’s called home for months. As soon as the door locks behind him, he starts pacing, ignoring the curious looks from his cellmate.  
  
“You alright, esé?”  
  
“Fuckin’ fine.” Mickey starts chewing his nails to distract his mind from how monumentally fucked he is. “Just had a visitor I didn’t wanna see.” He tilts his head, considering how that wasn’t exactly true before conceding, “Didn’t think I’d ever see, really.”  
  
Damon’s quiet for a moment, mulling over his next words because he knows how volatile Mickey can be when he’s agitated and Mickey knows Damon doesn’t really want to stir up any shit right now. “The dude on your chest?”  
  
Mickey freezes and since he knows he can’t really tamp down the swell of emotion sure to hit him at some point today, he nods.  
  
“What’d he want?”  
  
“Nothing really. Wants to start visiting or some bullshit. I don’t know, I’ll see how long it lasts.”   
  
“That mean the plan is off?”   
  
The plan. The half-assed escape plan they’d been dreaming up over the last several weeks is the furthest thing on Mickey’s mind right now, but he’s forced to think it over now that Damon’s brought it up. If Ian is really back in his life, should he go through it? Should he just sit and rot in this 8 by 10 hellhole for the rest of his sentence hoping Ian really will be waiting for him on the other side? So they could have a real shot at something without worrying about the cops banging down their door? Or was it all the more incentive for him to go through it and be with Ian sooner? Fuck. He has no clue what to do right now.  
  
“No,” Mickey answers finally, but then, “I don’t know. I can’t fuckin’ think straight right now, man. I’m all fuckin’ twisted up. Fuck!”  
  
Damon chuckles and settles back onto the top bunk, seemingly unbothered about his cellmate’s shaky fragile mental state as Mickey resumes trying to wear a hole in the cement floor.  
  
***  
  
Ian hadn’t expected the sunshine to be so blinding. He squints as he makes his way toward the closest bus stop, digging into his pockets for his pack of cigarettes and a lighter as soon as he’s off the prison grounds. He brings one to his lips, pausing briefly to light it and sticks the lighter back in his pack before he starts walking again. He’s on his second drag when he feels his phone vibrating in his back pocket. Seeing who it is, he grins as he answers.  
  
“Hey, how’d your visit with your jailbird ex go?” Lip drawls, inhaling and exhaling loudly on his end of the line, letting Ian know he’s doing the same thing as him, wherever his brother is.  
  
“Better than I expected.”  
  
“Oh yeah? What were you expecting?”  
  
“For him to tell me to fuck off forever and die.”  
  
Lip laughs brightly and takes another inhale before replying. “So, what’d he say, then?”  
  
“Not much. Seemed okay with me coming back though, so I’ll call it a win.” Ian takes another deep inhale waiting for his brother’s response.  
  
“That’s great, man.” Lip hesitates briefly before continuing and Ian can just picture him scratching at his face as he wonders whether to say whatever he was going to say next. “So, uh, what’s the master plan, then? Visit him for the next eight to fifteen years, pining away?”  
  
Ian sighs deeply. He knew Lip’s support would only go so far, but he just wants to bask in his little victory for a few minutes at least. “He doesn’t deserve to be in there, Lip. And he definitely doesn’t deserve the shitty way I treated him, you know that.” He sighs again as he takes one last drag and throws the butt across the road. “Look, I don’t know what I’m gonna do, I haven’t really thought too far beyond trying to get him to keep seeing me. Forgiving me would be a great start but I fucked up and if all I can do is visit him every week for the next decade then that’s what I’m gonna do, but I’ll figure something out.”  
  
“You know I’m just worried about you, right? You never were really a clear thinker when it came to Mickey.”  
  
“I can’t just give up because it’s gonna be hard. I did that before and you see how well that worked out.”  
  
“I know, I know, just… be careful okay?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, stop worrying so much, you’re gonna go prematurely gray.”  
  
“GFY, man.”  
  
“You really need to stop saying that. It’s not cool.”  
  
“Bye, asshole!”  
  
Ian snickers as he ends the call and shoves his phone back into his pocket. He’s tempted to close his eyes and absorb some sunshine as he waits for the bus to approach, but the schedule for the bus is unreliable at best and he doesn’t want to miss it should he get too relaxed. By some miracle, the bus appears after about ten minutes and Ian gets on. He makes his way to the back and once he’s settled in his seat, he closes his eyes and lets his mind wander.   
  
_ “I’m fine, alright?! I hate the meds, Lip! I fucking hate what they do to me. I’m not me anymore!” _  
  
_ It had been a few weeks on the new cocktail his doctor had prescribed him, what felt like the hundredth iteration they’d tried and he still felt...wrong. Like he couldn’t feel a thing, he was numb to every feeling in the world and he was sick of it. Sick of feeling like his diagnosis meant he was fucked for life and all he was good for was menial labor or using his body to make money. At least when he was unmedicated he felt things. Too much, too deeply, too vividly, for better or worse, but fuck, at least he felt _ ** _something_ ** _ . _  
  
_ So he’d made the monumental mistake of throwing his pills down the drain again without checking to see if he was alone in the house. Lip must have come looking for him after their fight at the dorms and had walked into the bathroom at the perfect time. He caught Ian red-handed flushing his meds and started ripping into him immediately. _  
  
_ “No, you dumb fuck, the meds aren’t what make you not you. It’s the bipolar that’s fucking with your head. Just think about all the shit you did before the meds, none of that is you.” _  
  
_ Ian didn’t want to think about the things he’d done over the past few months before he reluctantly started medication under constant threat from Fiona. He didn’t want to admit that sometimes he’d wake up and have no idea how he’d gotten somewhere or what he’d done - he’d blamed the drugs for the longest time, but he knew sometimes he hadn’t taken anything and he still couldn’t recall his actions before he became lucid again. And after Mickey brought him home and the drugs all but stopped, he didn’t have anything to blame at all. He shook his head as if trying to physically release the thoughts. “I’m fine.” _  
  
_ “No, you’re fucking not. Forget about the fact that you ran away from home or that you were holed up with Monica in a crack den for God knows how long. Or that you were dancing and doing whatever else the fuck you did at that club getting fucked up all the time. I mean shit, just look what you did to Mickey! Fuck if I know why, but Mickey’s all you wanted since you were 15 years old. And look what you’ve done. Cheated on him, stole his kid, and then unceremoniously dumped his ass after he’d been killing himself trying to take care of you! Now he’s locked up and it’s like you don’t even care. I don’t get it, man.” _  
  
_ It felt like he’d just been physically attacked. Lip’s tirade hit him hard in the chest, making him step back, not stopping until the back of his knees hit the bed and he collapsed back onto it. “Fuck,” he choked out. _  
  
_ Finally seeing some of his words sink in, Lip moved to sit next to Ian on the bed and softened his approach. He produced a cigarette and lighter, sparking it before he continued, “Look, the way I see it, the meds aren’t the problem. It’s the disorder that’s messing with you. Yeah, maybe it’ll take a while to find the right mix so you don’t feel like the walking dead when you’re on ‘em but they’re gonna help you be you again. Or whatever, as close as you can get. Because all that shit, that’s not you, Ian.” _  
  
_ Ian was silent for a long time, mulling over Lip’s advice before Lip sighed and said, “I know you don’t wanna be like Monica, we all know that. But to this day, Monica will deny that anything’s wrong with her. She’ll only take her pills when it’s too late and she’s already ruined everything in her path.” He patted his brothers leg before standing up and heading to the door. But before he crossed the threshold he took an exaggerated drag from his cigarette and went in for the kill. “You don’t wanna be like Monica? Take your fucking meds.” And with that, he turned and left, leaving a cloud of smoke behind. _  
  
_ Ian flopped back onto his bed, mulling over everything Lip had said. He didn’t know why it had taken him so long to wake up from the hazy, walking nightmare he’d been trudging through or why all of a sudden Lip’s words got through to him, but he thanked fuck something finally had. He felt like he’d been laying there for hours as the events of the last few months finally sunk into his consciousness. _  
  
_ The nights he’d go without sleeping. The early morning runs and unfinished projects. The fucking suitcases. The flashes of strangers feeding him pills and powders before Mickey found him. How he’d be so keyed up sometimes, even after fucking Mickey raw, that he just needed some relief and went out to find someone willing to scratch the itch he so desperately needed to be rid of. The fucking porno. Running away with Yev. Running away with Monica. Letting Mickey go. The weeks where he couldn’t bear getting out of bed, making his family worried sick about him. How he thought he’d never be able to dig himself out of the black hole he found himself in, no matter how hard everyone around him tried to help. _  
  
_ A heavy weight settled on his chest at the thought of the pain he’d caused to everyone he loved, realizing all the mistakes he made. How he tore Mickey’s world apart like it was nothing, all because he couldn’t take the weight of the other man’s love. All Mickey had done was love him, care for him, but that day he stood on the porch of his house and let Mickey go, he was drained and overwhelmed, so he had let the only person he ever loved walk out of his life. All he’d done for years was love and adore Mickey, but the mix of his disorder, the medication, and Monica’s poisonous words still swimming in his head all told him that love wasn’t enough for Mickey to stick around. The grip he had on the other man’s soul was slipping, he saw it on Mickey’s face every time he fucked up and he knew Mickey deserved more than he could give. He should have been strong enough to carry them through the storm, or let Mickey take over and be the strong one, but he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t subject Mickey to the kind of life he was now destined to live. He felt a tear roll down his cheek and all he could say for himself was, “Fuck.” _  
  
_ It had been a couple months since Ian’s last visit to Mickey. He’d been trying very hard to forget about that visit. He had tried kidding himself for a while that he had moved on, or was at least on the road to getting over his failed relationship, but it all hit him then and there that he was too far gone to see what had been happening. Without thinking too much about where he was going or how late it was, he grabbed his coat and headed out the door. _  
  
_ That night he found himself wandering the streets of the city, overlooking the Chicago River from the sidewalk of a bridge, his world crumbling around him, lost in every sense of the word and all he could do was think of Mickey. Of how long and hard they’d fought to be together, but in the end it was a losing battle. What good had all the blood, sweat, and tears they’d shed over the course of their relationship done for them in the end? _  
  
_ Mickey was in prison, wasting away more and more every single night, and Ian was out here, supposedly free, but a slave to his fucked up mind and his broken heart. He hoped that if he never saw Mickey again, he wouldn’t be lonely, that’s not what he wanted for the man he loved. Ian hoped he’d be able to move on and be safe in the arms of another. Someone worthy of his love, who could give Mickey everything he deserved. In the moment it felt like giving up didn’t seem to matter, that there was no life to live after he’d burned all his relationships to the ground and he was briefly tempted by the dark depths of the Chicago River. _  
  
_ It was then that he heard the deafening crunch of metal hitting metal behind him. He saw a car flee the scene and a woman trapped in the other and knew he had to do something. He finally felt something. Sure, it was a rush of adrenaline and fear before he promptly passed out, but he felt it. And he decided to chase it. _  
  
The bus jerking to a stop breaks Ian from his reverie and he sits up to get his bearings. Looking around, he sees he’s near the end of his journey and readies himself to get off as soon as they pull into the depot.   
  
He’s thought a lot about that night, that night that seemingly changed the course of his life for the better, but still fills him with sorrow and regret. How he’d ever let himself get to that point is a mystery to him now that he’s had a few months of stability. Guilt settles over him knowing that it took him this long, and that he’d let himself get distracted by the prospect of a fresh start and a piece of ass who he thought would provide a sense of normalcy but just turned out to be just a giant ass. He didn’t want to think about every terrible thing he’d done — a lot of which had centered on his ex — and let himself get caught up in trying to live a better life. He was feeling things again and all thoughts of Mickey ever brought was pain. It was too hard, seeing him through the glass, thinking of him behind bars, so he took the coward’s way out. He tried to move on.   
  
He’d really tried with Caleb. He’d even given him more than three strikes, trying to give the other man the benefit of the doubt. When Caleb had first called him a piece of trash that he was trying to find the beauty in, he thought maybe it was romantic, but the more he thought about it, the more offended he was. But Caleb wasn’t from his world and he didn’t know how serious the other man was. Strike one. Using Ian to bait his homophobic family had seemed reasonable at the time — he had understood and put on a good fucking show but wished he would have known beforehand. But Caleb had let him walk in blind and that, he decided, was fucked up. Strike two. Hiding his HIV status had been another red flag and should have been the final straw, but he reasoned that he’d also lied about his bipolar disorder so he stuck around when a little voice inside him told him he should have been running for the hills. Ian knew he was shit at being alone, needing outside validation and someone to warm his bed at night so he handwaved all those incidents, choosing to see past them and cling to the good in the relationship.  
  
He was annoyed with how long it took him to get to his breaking point, but Caleb had steered him into a good career path, provided a refuge from his crazy home life, and a consistent lay. But fucking around on him and gaslighting him into thinking that it wasn’t cheating just because it was a woman was it. He was fucking done. Once he was free, all the cracks and crevices he skipped over now seemed like craters and canyons. He realized what a colossal mistake he’d made trying to make it work with Caleb when his heart was never truly in it. When his thoughts were always miles away, focused on a brunet in an orange jumpsuit whose only crime was loving him. On a man who had held his heart since he was 15 years old through trials and tribulations, manic highs and depressive lows. On a man he’d done nothing but wrong to and yet still seemed to love him more fiercely every single day.  
  
Ian felt like he was the real criminal in the situation. He had been careless with Mickey’s heart. Ian had broken him down again and again, just because he could. Ian had had enough; they had both suffered for Ian’s sins for long enough and he was finally trying to redeem himself, because Mickey was all he ever needed, all he ever wanted, the only one he’d ever love.  
  
The bus rolls to a stop and Ian hurriedly disembarks, head filled with plans, dreams, and for the first time in a long time, hope.   
  
***  
  
The next visitation day Mickey sits cross-legged on his bottom bunk chewing his nails in anticipation. It’s been exactly one week since Ian had come to him, hat in hand, asking to be let back into Mickey’s life. He hated that he was nervous. Worried Ian wouldn’t show. Worried that he would. Excited. Anxious. Every fucking word associated with the fact that he was positively shitting himself over the possibility of seeing Ian again.   
  
“Milkovich. Visitor.”  
  
Mickey’s stomach drops. As he gets up to follow the guard he searches through the fountain of emotions bursting inside him but the overwhelming one, the only one he can grasp and give name to is surprise. He wishes he wasn’t surprised Ian came back, wishes he knew Ian was someone he could count on to be there and come back each week. But it’s been a long time since Ian was solid enough for Mickey to trust him like that. He lets himself hope that in time, Ian could be his rock like before.   
  
He turns the corner into the visitation room and is slightly confused to see Ian waiting for him dressed in some kind of uniform. His first thought is that Ian looks damn good, closely followed by the fact that he looks tired as hell. He tries to ignore the way Ian lights up as he sits down across the glass but tucks away the memory to relive again later.  
  
“Went all official on me?” he asks in lieu of a greeting, unable to prevent his eyebrows from rising.  
  
“EMT,” Ian answers, straightening up under Mickey’s scrutiny. “Came from work.”  
  
“Mmm,” Mickey hums appreciatively. “Looks good on you, Gallagher.” Ian looks way too happy to be on the receiving end of that compliment. _ Fuck. _ He can’t be flirty, not now, not this soon. He decides to gloss over his momentary lapse in judgment. “You alright? You kinda look like shit.”  
  
“Yeah, just tired.” Ian grins in reply. “Came straight off a night shift, but I didn’t wanna be late so didn’t have time to change or anything.”  
  
“You didn’t have to do that man, I’ve survived this long, another week wouldn’t kill me.” Ian tries to hide it, but his face falls quickly before he can right it again. Mickey didn’t mean to bring up Ian’s absence so soon, so casually, but he tells himself he doesn’t feel guilty. He shouldn’t feel guilty because it’s the truth. Ian’s been gone and Mickey’s survived. He doesn’t think there’s much choice but to survive in prison. Do or die, kill or be killed, all that shit. Sure, it would have been a fuck ton easier knowing he had someone on the outside that would miss him if something happens to him, but there’s nothing Mickey can do about it now. He looks through the glass at Ian, eager as a puppy to be here and Mickey thinks maybe he’ll have someone now. Maybe he always did.  
  
“Nah, it’s fine,” Ian recovers. “End of my rotation so I’ve got a few days off now before switching to days. Besides, I told you I wanted to start coming back, wasn’t gonna miss the first week you were actually expecting me.”   
  
Mickey purses his lips and nods in understanding. Ian’s saying all the right things so far. “So, not working at the diner anymore, I guess? How’d you get into this shit?”   
  
“Kinda a long story.”  
  
Mickey quirks an eyebrow. “I got nothing but time here.”  
  
Ian laughs but shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Uh, I was out one night, saw this accident and tried helping this woman who was stuck in her car but sorta passed out after I dragged her out and some firemen had to save me. Became friends with one of the guys in the squad and he’s the one who got me interested in EMT work.”  
  
Ian’s not meeting Mickey’s eyes and he can tell some details have been left out of Ian’s story. It’s not a far leap in Mickey’s mind what those are. “Friend, huh?” He waits a moment before Ian brings his eyes back up to meet Mickey’s. “Friend you fuck?”  
  
“Boyfriend,” Ian sighs after a beat and then quickly adds, “Ex-Boyfriend. Weren’t together that long. He uh-cheated on me with his ex. Woman ex.”  
  
“You dated a bi firefighter?” Mickey’s not exactly mad about that fact. Kinda amused if he’s being honest. He knows Ian’s a horny mother fucker and it was just a matter of time before he found someone to stick his dick into. He admits the label stings a little though. Knew Ian would move on, he just didn’t think it would have been so soon. Or so serious.  
  
“That’s the thing!” He can tell Ian’s fired up now, no love lost between him and this guy, which sparks some joy in Mickey. “He insisted he wasn’t bi and that it wasn’t cheating because it was with a woman. Guy turned out to be a major dick in the end.” Mickey has a million follow up questions, none of which he thinks he’s ready to hear the answers to.   
  
“Pretty shitty taste, man. Pedos, criminals, and cheaters. You really know how to pick ‘em.”  
  
There’s no hesitation when Ian looks at Mickey now. “Nah, they weren’t all bad. The criminal was my favorite.”   
  
Mickey contorts his mouth in an attempt to hide the smile threatening to burst through. “Fuck off, man.”  
  
Ian laughs and Mickey can’t hide his smile any longer.   
  
“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you… when’s the last time you heard from Mandy?”  
  
“Couple weeks ago, probably,” Mickey answers, all too happy to move on to another topic of conversation.  
  
Ian deflates a little. “Shit, I talked to her last week after I saw you but I haven't heard from her since. You think something happened?”  
  
“I’m sure she’s fine, man. She can handle her own shit, don’t worry about it.”   
  
“I do worry about her though, you know, with what she’s doing now. Hard not to.”  
  
“Yeah, I get it.” Mickey worries too, but there’s nothing he can do in his position. He sees Ian’s concern and fuck if he doesn’t want to do all that he can to wash all of his troubles away. That need to take care of Ian never disappeared, despite Ian’s insistence he didn’t want it. “If I talk to her this week, I’ll let you know, alright?”  
  
“Thanks, Mick. Hopefully she gets back to me before then but you’ll let me know next week, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Mickey’s heart stutters at the promise of next week, another week. Another chance to see Ian. He doesn’t want to let his guard down again so soon, but he’s finding it harder and harder to keep his walls up. Ian always knew exactly how to break through them anyway.  
  
*  
  
The next day Mickey finds himself in line at the phone bank trying not to think about how absolutely whipped he is for that stupid redhead. He steps up to the next free phone and dials one of the few numbers he has memorized. After a few rings, Mandy answers.  
  
“‘‘Sup delinquent.”  
  
“Hello to you too, slut.”  
  
“Oh how I miss you, dear brother,” Mandy laughs. “What’s up, Mick?”  
  
“Nothing,” Mickey replies. “Just checkin’ in. See how you’re doing.”  
  
An unusually long silence follows before Mandy speaks again. “You’re what?”  
  
Mickey shifts uncomfortably from one foot to another. “Checking in. Making sure you’re alright. Jesus, can’t a brother check on his sister?”  
  
“Yeah, but you’ve never…” Mandy cuts herself off and Mickey curses inwardly, sure she’s figured out his true intentions. “When was visitation day?”  
  
“Yesterday.” Fuck, she knows.  
  
“And did you have a visitor?”  
  
Mickey sniffs and brushes the side of his nose. He’s definitely been caught. “Yeah.”  
  
“That nosey motherfucker. Did he ask you to check in on me?”  
  
“Maybe. Said he couldn’t get a hold of you. Was worried or some shit.”  
  
Mandy chuckles dryly. “Yeah I know he’s been blowing my phone up but I’ve been ignoring his ass.”  
  
“Why? What’d he do?”  
  
Mandy sighs. “Last time I talked to him, he told me he started visiting you again. Didn’t think it was gonna stick so I was pissed at him. Don’t want him fucking with you.”  
  
“Yeah, well, he came back so.”  
  
“Two weeks in a row. Throw him a fuckin’ party.”  
  
“What’s up your ass?” Mickey was starting to get annoyed. If anyone had a right to be pissed at Ian, it was him, and frustratingly, he couldn’t find it in him to be mad right now, too high from the thrill of Ian being back in his life.   
  
“I think it’s a bad idea. Not gonna do either of you any good. Told him as much and he ignored me, clearly.”  
  
“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“I just don’t think this is something you two can work through right now,” she sighs. “You’re my brother and I just want what’s best for you and I don’t think that’s him, not now. Ian’s my best friend but I hate what he did to you. ”  
  
“He’s just visiting, Mands. We’re not doing couples therapy or some shit.”  
  
“I just think it’ll complicate things. I know the way he did it sucked ass, but if you’re not together, you don’t have to think about each other, ya know? He’s doing really well and he’s been focused on getting better. And you don’t need to worry about him, just keep your head down, do your time, and get the fuck outta there. Nothing gets messy.”  
  
Mickey bites his lip, weighing whether or not he should say what he wants to next. He glances around to ensure no one’s listening in and says quietly, “Just because we’re not together, doesn’t mean I haven’t been worrying about him. Doesn’t mean I don’t think about him every day.”  
  
“Mick…”  
  
“I get it,” Mickey cuts her off. He doesn’t want her concern, her sympathy. He doesn’t want to hear any more reasons why Ian wouldn’t — or according to Mandy — shouldn’t come back. “I do. But I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself. So is he. Let him make his own decisions.”  
  
“I know all that.”  
  
“And do me a fucking favor, when you talk to him, don’t be filling his head with this shit, okay?” Knowing Ian’s family, he’s probably already gotten an earful from Fiona and Lip, Mickey doesn’t want to add another voice to the “stay away from Mickey” chorus.  
  
Mandy sighs, knowing she won’t win this round. “I just hope it works out, alright?”  
  
Mickey takes a deep breath and pushes down the apprehension bubbling in his chest. “Yeah, me too.”


	2. Criminal

* * *

  
Ian sits on the hard plastic chair, wiggling around trying to find a comfortable position as he waits for Mickey to emerge from the back. At the sight of Mickey making his way over, he tries willing away the thoughts consuming him. He’s fresh from a therapy session and those meetings always fuck with his head for a few days afterward, his brain on overdrive, attempting to sort through the slew of emotions that inevitably fill him from the conversations he’s had.   
  
He puts a smile on his face and greets the other man.    
  
“Hey.” Ian’s heart beats a little quicker at the sight of Mickey smiling shyly back at him.    
  
Maybe Mickey doesn’t realize how much of an effect he still has on Ian. Wouldn’t put it past him, after the way Ian had treated him. But he used to know. It wasn’t too long ago that Mickey knew exactly what buttons to push to rile him up in every way possible. Once Mickey knew he held that power over Ian, he wielded it responsibly, even when Mickey had been trying to kid himself that what they had was just sex, he never crossed any lines.    
  
The same couldn’t be said for himself, he thought ruefully. When Ian came back from the army, he had abused the hold he realized he now had over Mickey. He told himself at the time he deserved some sense of control but he knew even then he took it too far sometimes. Later, he tried convincing himself that his behavior boiled down to side effects of his bipolar disorder, in the early stages of rearing its ugly head, but thanks to fucking therapy he knows he can’t blame all of his past indiscretions on his illness. He needs to own his actions and the truth of the matter is, they were shitty.   
  
He knows he should just start talking, steer the conversation into lighter topics, but Mickey surprises him by speaking first.    
  
“Mandy talk to you?” He asks tentatively, almost nervous.   
  
“Yeah,” He refrains from rolling his eyes. “She had a lot to say.”    
  
“Course she did.” Mickey didn’t fight it, he let his eyes roll freely. He seems to hesitate briefly before he asks, “Still here though?”   
  
Ian’s heart clenches at the thought that Mickey might think a few heated words from his sister would deter Ian from his visits. Mandy could be a scary son of a bitch, but nothing was going to stop Ian from showing Mickey he was serious about being in Mickey’s life again. So he shakes his head and replies, “Not gonna change my mind.”   
  
Mickey seems to accept his answer as he visibly relaxes, but Ian must not be hiding his turmoil very well because Mickey speaks up again. “You okay? Looks like something’s up with you.”   
  
“Am I that obvious?” Ian smiles sheepishly as Mickey just shrugs. “It’s nothing really, just thinking about some shit from therapy.”   
  
“You seein’ a therapist?” Mickey asks, surprised.   
  
“Told you I’ve been getting my shit together. Meds, therapy, routine, healthy living.” Mickey raises an eyebrow, seemingly impressed, and Ian can’t help but get a little cocky. “You proud of me, Mick?”   
  
Mickey rolls his eyes and flips Ian off through the glass. “So what’s the problem then?”   
  
“Just usually brings up stuff.”   
  
“Oh yeah, what kinda stuff?” Mickey presses.   
  
Ian hesitates, unsure if he really wants to reopen old wounds, pick at the scabs until they bleed. Then again, maybe getting it off his chest will help heal them. He bites his lip for a moment before he dives right in. “Back when you first got locked up, I think I was pissed at you.”   
  
“Excuse me?” Okay, maybe not the best opener.   
  
“Not that I thought it was your fault or you know, you shouldn’t have done what you did, but I was pissed you were gone. I think that’s partly why I stopped coming to see you.”   
  
“Care to elaborate on that, Gallagher?”   
  
Ian sighs, knowing Mickey’s barely containing his rage, and searches for the right words to not fuck this up, but he’s not sure they exist. “After that day that all that shit with Sammi happened, I realized that wasn’t what I wanted. With us. I was so messed up but then you were gone and I couldn’t fix it which fucked me up more and I just know that if you were around then things would be completely different right now.” Ian braves a glance at Mickey, unable to look at him while he was trying to explain himself before. He’s surprised to see Mickey doesn’t look like he wants to pummel him anymore. He just looks...sad. “I know you did it for me and maybe I wouldn’t have become an EMT or gotten my shit together, but... I did a lot of shit I regret and even if I kinda like who I am now, I had to do it without you.”   
  
“Ian…”   
  
“So yeah, I was angry you went away and then Fiona made me go on the meds and I couldn’t fuckin’ feel a thing for a long time and that’s why I was so shitty to you when I was here before. I was numb and I didn’t wanna be a burden on you and I thought being apart was gonna be good for us. But I didn’t know shit. It’s hard for me to remember what I was thinking back then because everything was just a fucking haze. But all I can think about now is that the whole thing just wasn’t like you. You wouldn’t have just accepted whatever shit sentence those assholes handed down to you. Why did you just roll over in court? Why didn’t you fight, Mickey?”   
  
_Why didn’t you fight for us?_ Is what Ian doesn’t say, but it’s what he means. Back then, Ian couldn’t even fight for himself, but Mickey was strong enough, fierce enough to do it for the both of them, and he had for so long. But he didn’t. It had hurt Ian that Mickey could just stop caring and he lashed out, started to distance himself from his ex.    
  
It takes a long time before Mickey speaks again. “I couldn’t,” he answers quietly. “I didn’t have it in me to fight for something that wasn’t...” He stops, closes his eyes and breathes out before he changes course. “Didn’t think anyone gave a shit about what happened to me. So I just went with whatever the lawyer said. Wish I didn’t, pretty much right after the judge said I was in for 15 years but there’s nothing I can do, right? Fucked for life, that’s what I always said.”   
  
“You’re not though,” Ian urges. “You know that, right? I hope you know that.”   
  
“If I could do it all over again, maybe it’d be different. Maybe not, I don’t know, probably still be rotting in here, but at least I would’ve done something about it.”   
  
“If shit hadn’t gone down the way it did, you’d have fought? If I had been there?” _For you. For us._   
  
“Nothing I can do about it now, so no use wasting time and energy thinking about it. It is what it is, man. Can we stop fucking talking about this shit?” Mickey’s clearly done with this discussion so Ian nods his head absently and attempts to change the subject.    
  
That doesn’t stop Ian from replaying the conversation over and over in his mind for days afterward, cursing himself the entire time.    
  
Yeah, it was true he had been angry with Mickey, but looking back, he sees he was also angry with himself. And he wanted to punish himself by staying away from Mickey. What he didn’t realize was that it was worse for Mickey, all alone, behind bars. He’d made a huge mistake without even considering the long term effects. He was selfish, plain and simple.   
  
Now he was reaping what he sowed.    
  
***   
  
Mickey’s surprised the next week on visitation day to learn he has someone waiting for him again. Ian had mentioned the week before that he was working, his shift pattern finally catching up to the visitation schedule.   
  
He tries containing his excitement as he follows the guard, knowing it isn’t exactly a good look for an inmate to be so happy walking around the compound. But he can’t help himself. Ian had kept his promise and had been back week after week. Mickey was letting Ian back in, little by little and he was fucking happy.   
  
Maybe Ian had gotten his shift switched around, maybe he got off early…   
  
_Ah, fuck._   
  
Maybe it was his wife here to ruin his good fucking mood. Svetlana’s grin as he walks over and sits in front of her makes him irrationally angry. He reluctantly picks up the receiver.   
  
“Husband,” she drawls and forms her lips into a kiss like an idiot.   
  
“Svet. I’d say it was good to see you, but, ya know.”   
  
“Charming, as usual. You are doing okay, yes?”   
  
“Fuckin’ fine. As if you care,” he huffs. “Where’s little man?”   
  
Svetlana quirks an eyebrow. “Did not think _you _cared about Yevgeny.”   
  
“He’s my son,” Mickey says and arches an eyebrow right back. “As far as I know anyway.”   
  
“Yes, yes, he is yours,” Svetlana replies, rolling her eyes, tired of the constant questioning of their son’s parentage. “You think I would have stayed in that shit show if he wasn’t? Your son.”   
  
“Alright, alright. No Yev, so what the fuck you doin’ here then?”   
  
Svetlana holds her hands up in surrender. “Just wanted to check on you. Make sure orange boy is not stomping all over you again.”   
  
Mickey freezes. _How the fuck does she know?_ He falls back on his default defense mechanism: denial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”   
  
“Please, I am not idiot. And your boyfriend is big talker. He comes to me a while ago, apologizing. Saying how sorry he was for what happened with Yevgeny. Later he tells Fiona he comes here, is all — what is word? Giddy, the past few weeks. Always smiling.”   
  
Mickey can’t help but to crack a small smile at that news. “Yeah?”   
  
“I knew it!” Svetlana slaps her hand on the table triumphantly. “You are shit liar. Besides Fiona tells Vee, Vee tells me. I know these things.”   
  
“You friends with Vee now or some shit?”   
  
“Maybe yes, maybe more than friends,” she shrugs.   
  
Mickey furrows his eyebrows, confused. “Wait. Did she and Kev split? She a lesbian now?”   
  
“No and also no. We are all together. One big happy family.” Her eyebrows rise and fall a few times, lecherously.    
  
“That is so messed up,” Mickey finally decides after considering the news for a few moments.    
  
“You should be happy, actually…”   
  
“Why is that, huh?”   
  
“There have been some complications with immigration,” she says quietly, looking around to make sure no one’s paying attention. “I need spouse who’s not in prison. You do me no good in here.”   
  
“Let’s not kid ourselves, I didn’t do you much good out there, either.”   
  
Svetlana allows herself to chuckle for a few moments before getting back to business. “Vee and I are going to be married. And for this, I need divorce. You sign papers, we are finished.”    
  
Mickey can’t really believe this is happening. After years of being married and miserable, of putting up a front, first for his father and then for the rest of the world, here’s an out. Finally, a way out. It’s been the one thing hanging over his head, keeping him from completely being free and happy and now, just like that, a way out. He concedes this should have happened a long time ago — never should have gotten married in the first fucking place — but he and Ian agreed it probably wouldn’t be the best karma in the world if Svet got deported if they were to divorce.    
  
“Shit, yeah, where are they? Where do I sign?”   
  
“My lawyer will send them this week. If terms are agreeable, you should be ex-husband in matter of weeks.”   
  
“You know you’re not getting alimony or whatever that shit is, right? Not like I’ve got anything to give.” He pulls on his jumpsuit pointedly.    
  
“Yes, yes, I know this,” Svetlana waves her hand in the air dismissively. “You have fifteen years. By the time you get out, Yev will almost be grown, we can work out payment when the time comes. But you must cooperate, yes?”   
  
“Might be out in eight,” Mickey counters hopefully. “But yeah, when I’m back on my feet and shit, I’ll help out with Yev. I’m not a deadbeat. But uh, one condition - I wanna see him while I’m in here.” Svetlana doesn’t answer so he presses on. “Come on, I know it’s not exactly the ideal situation and I’m not asking for like, a regular schedule or whatever. Just — can you bring him a few times a year or something? So he knows he’s got a dad, even a shitty criminal one. ”   
  
“Maybe your boyfriend can bring him?” She’s smiling now, real proud of herself, Mickey can tell.   
  
“One - fuck you. Two - he’s not my— we’re not together. At the most, we’re just friends, okay?”   
  
“Sure, sure. He’s not the reason you look like lovesick puppy when you walked out here?”   
  
Mickey flips her off. He sort of hates that before everything went to shit, he and Svetlana had managed to form some kind of fucked up forged-by-fire bond. She knows him a little too well for his liking. “Hey, he’s better now. Not gonna pull any of that shit again.”   
  
“Maybe, but you are still stupid little boy, blinded by love.”   
  
“If it wasn’t for Ian, I’d barely be able to look the kid in the eye. He’s good for me and he’s good for Yev. Ease up, bitch.”    
  
“Fine,” she relents. “We will visit. But I keep watch on carrot boy. If he fucks up, I will know. And he will pay.”   
  
“Alright, alright, got it. Now get outta here and get me the damn divorce papers. The sooner I can call you my ex-wife, the better.”   
  
On the walk back to his cell that day, the pep in his step is bigger than ever.   
  
***   
  
Ian’s exhausted. All he can think about on the walk back from the L that day is how badly he wants to pass out in his bed and not wake up until the next morning. Almost beating out his complete and total lack of energy is the fact that he’s horny as hell. His stupid shift meant that he missed his weekly hit of Mickey and even though he always feels a little bad about it, face time with Mickey means new material for his spank bank that week. But before he can make it through the gate in front of his house, he’s ambushed.   
  
“Hey, any idea who’s responsible for all the anti-shelter signs?” A curly haired brunet approaches him, clearly agitated, looking for a fight. Probably not a good idea in this neighborhood, Ian thinks, but the kid’s got spunk.   
  
“Uh, no idea, neighbors, probably.”   
  
“Not you?”   
  
“No…”   
  
“Good, I was winding up for a big ol’ tantrum.” Ian eyes the kid, purses his lips, tries to hold back a smile. Probably not the first or last time he’d throw one, Ian would bet, this guy looks like the type to get his panties in a bunch over some trivial shit. “So fuckin’ sick of these phonies acting like they give a shit but then they’re like ‘ew, homeless people.”   
  
Okay, this guy’s a trip, Ian decides. “You live around here?” He knows just from the way the guy holds himself, he doesn’t.   
  
“I work on Cermak. You know ‘Children of the Night’?” Ian shakes his head. “It’s a center for at risk youth. Some of those kids have no place to live, so I’m the mouthy asshole who tries to place them. Christian.” The kid — Christian — offers his hand out for Ian to shake.   
  
“Ian.”   
  
“So, which one’s the shelter?” Christian asks. Ian points to the house at the end of the block where Frank’s set up shop. “Thanks, I’ll check it out.”   
  
“Good luck,” Ian offers as he turns to head inside, but is once again stopped by the relentless ball of energy that is Christian.   
  
“Hey, uh, I don’t know if you like to party, but my friends and I do a boystown crawl every other week. Hitting up a few places tonight, there’s a few spots I think you might wanna check out, what do you like?”   
  
Ian raises an eyebrow in reply. “Boystown, huh? What gave me away?”   
  
Christian laughs and sticks his hands in his pockets, attempting to be coy, but Ian’s really not buying it. “Wishful thinking.”   
  
Ian laughs and tries to think of a way to let this guy down easy. Boystown didn’t exactly hold the best memories for Ian. And he’s definitely not picking up what Christian is putting down. “Kinda just got out of a relationship. Didn’t really go out much. Not really my scene, honestly. More of a homebody these days.”   
  
“Ah come on,” Christian persists. “You’re up all night saving lives—” he says, indicating to Ian’s uniform, “—gotta let loose a little bit sometimes, right?”    
  
Ian tips his head, considering. He was really looking forward to a good night’s sleep, but it has been a while since he had a night out. And he could probably do with a few more friends now that he thinks about it. His life lately has just been work, home, prison once a week, and that’s it. Maybe he was being too hard on himself. Maybe he deserves a night out.   
  
“Maybe it’d be fun. Something not too crazy?”   
  
Ian’s response prompts Christian to run back to his car, digging around the backseat until he comes back with a matchbook. “Here, this one’s pretty laid back. Low key vibe. Good for easing back into the scene.”   
  
“Cool,” Ian breathes out, not entirely sure he won’t regret this decision later.   
  
“We’ll probably swing by around 10 if you wanna meet us there?” Christian bites his lip, looking up at Ian with what he can only describe as bedroom eyes. Another time, another life, Ian might have fallen for it, but he’s got no room for that nonsense in his life right now. He’d have to make that perfectly clear to this dude if he tried anything later, but for now he hopes that he can get away with just one night of fun.   
  
‘Yeah,” he finally agrees. “I’ll be there.”   
  
*   
  
Ian’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror putting the finishing touches on his hair when Carl bursts through the door and heads straight for the toilet. Ian pays Carl no mind as he unzips and starts to relieve himself, unfortunately no stranger to being witness to his brother’s bathroom habits.    
  
“Where you going all dressed up?” Carl asks as he’s finishing up.   
  
“Out.”   
  
“You never go out,” Carl says as he flushes. “Finally get tired of jacking it all the time? On the hunt for a real live boy tonight?”   
  
Ian shakes his head, laughing. “Not looking for anything tonight. Just hanging out with a potential new friend I met today.”   
  
“So, you’re definitely gonna have sex then?” Carl grins.   
  
“Nope.” Satisfied his hair looks good he turns around to face his brother. “I’m actually trying this new thing where I don’t sleep with random guys anymore.”   
  
Carl’s face distorts in confusion and disgust. “Ew, why?”   
  
“I don’t want that shit anymore,” Ian sighs. “Sex is much better when you’re in a loving, committed relationship, anyway.”   
  
“Sounds pretty gay,” Carl retorts jokingly. “Doesn’t that get boring?”   
  
“Not if you’re with the right person, no.”   
  
Carl studies Ian for a moment. “This have anything to do with Mickey? Thought you guys weren’t actually back together? And you know, he’s in fucking prison.”   
  
Ian starts to shake his head in denial before he reconsiders. “Might have a little something to do with him, actually,” he says sheepishly. “But it’s not like that. I don’t want to have sex with anyone else, not right now, so I’m not gonna.”   
  
“Dude, he’s gonna be in there for a long time. Like, _years_. You sure you’ll remember how to use it by the time he gets out?”   
  
“Get the fuck outta here!” Ian laughs as he shoves Carl through the bathroom door and makes his way downstairs to leave.   
  
*   
  
“Hey, you made it!” Christian greets him enthusiastically when Ian finds him and a group of people chatting animatedly at the bar where they agreed to meet.   
  
“Yeah, thought I’d let you show an old man how to party again,” he calls back.   
  
“Good decision,” Christian replies as he takes Ian by the arm and guides him over to his friends. “Let me introduce the crew. Ian, this is Mel, Jason, Tony, Sophie, and Jack. Guys, this is Ian.” He’s met with a chorus of ‘heys’ and ‘hellos’ and he waves back. Christian turns to him and steps closer so he doesn’t have to shout. “I’m gonna head to the bar and grab a drink, want me to get you something?”   
  
“Just a beer, thanks.” Ian shoots back and settles into the booth Christian’s friends are occupying while he waits.    
  
“So, Ian,” a pretty blonde with extremely curly hair - he’s pretty sure her name was Mel - turns to face Ian giving him her full attention. “How’d you meet Christian?”   
  
“Uh, there’s a bunch of anti-homeless shelter signs around my neighborhood. He was trying to find whoever put them up. Pretty sure he was ready to kick someone’s ass, but not sure how well he would have done,” Ian answers with a laugh.   
  
“Sounds like Chris,” most-likely Mel grins back. “So what do you?”   
  
“I’m an EMT.”   
  
“Oh, awesome!”   
  
“What about you?”   
  
“Lawyer,” she says as she sips at her drink.   
  
“Wow, that’s impressive. What kind of law do you practice?”   
  
“Mostly human rights. I do a lot of pro bono work for the shelter Chris works at. It’s how we met.”   
  
“Wow,” Ian says again. “How’d you get into that?”   
  
‘Besides the fact that I’m a raging lesbian who’s sick and tired of the LGBTQ community getting trampled on?” She wiggles her eyebrows and Ian can’t help but crack a smile in response. “I wanted to help people who can’t help themselves. I used to work in criminal law and it was rewarding, most of the time, but there’s just so much work to be done still for human rights in this country, it’s kind of sickening. I have the capability to help, so I do.” She shrugs.   
  
Ian can’t help it. His head is automatically filled with racing thoughts and one massive idea bubbles up to the forefront and he can’t let it go. Christian returns and hands Ian his beer, but Ian keeps his attention centered on Mel, much to the other man’s chagrin. Now that this idea has taken root, Ian can't bring himself to care about anything else.   
  
“So, Mel, feel free to tell me to fuck off, but can I get your professional opinion on something?”   
  
Ian dominates Mel’s time for the majority of the night, to Christian’s clear displeasure, but eventually excuses himself to go to the bathroom. When he returns, he’s accosted by the bubbly brunette.   
  
“Hey, you were busy talking Mel’s ear off all night, hardly got a chance to get you to myself,” Christian purrs.   
  
Ian steps back, hoping the kid can take a hint. “Yeah, think she might be able to help me out with something.”   
  
“That’s good,” he dismisses and pointedly looks Ian up and down. “So, you wanna get outta here? My place isn’t far.”   
  
Ian’s brow furrows. “I already told you, I’m just getting out of a relationship, not looking for—”   
  
“Not looking for a relationship either, Red. Just wanna have some fun.”   
  
Ian places a steady hand on the other man’s chest, keeping him at bay. “Yeah, not really in a place for anything right now, man. Trying to focus on myself for a change.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before,” Christian says as he rolls his eyes and Ian has to fight the urge to punch this cocky fucker in the nose. “Come on, it’s just one night, I promise you won’t regret it.”   
  
“Look, I appreciate you inviting me out tonight, I do, but I thought the friendly gesture was just that — friendly.”   
  
“Hey man, you can tell yourself you don’t want me, that’s fine, I’ll play along, but I have plenty of friends, I don’t need any more.”   
  
“Woah,” Ian rears back, not quite sure how he’s found himself in this situation. “I’m sorry if I led you on at all, but I really didn’t think I was giving out any ‘come hither’ vibes. You seem nice and all, but I don’t wanna fuck you, dude.”    
  
“You honestly thought I was inviting you out as a friend?” Christian asks dubiously.   
  
“Yeah, I’ve been in some kind of relationship since I was fifteen so I was kinda hoping for some platonic companionship for a change.”   
  
Christian backs off a little, dejected, but seems to have cooled down a little after Ian’s explanation. “I guess that makes sense. I feel kinda like a dick now though.”   
  
Ian laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t, I totally get it. I’ve just had a rough couple of years and I’m trying something new.”   
  
“No hard feelings?”    
  
“No hard feelings,” Ian promises as they make their way back to the booth.   
  
It’s a little awkward at first, but the drinks and the company make them both forget about their little run-in after a few minutes. And by the time Ian heads home, he’s got Mel’s number and a promise to set an appointment with her in a few days.    
  
All in all, it was a good night.    
  
***   
  
“So, I’ve been talking with this lawyer friend of mine about you, they seemed really interested in looking into your case.”   
  
“Oh yeah? He looking to fuck you?”   
  
Ian rolls his eyes. “_She’s_ gay. She is definitely not trying to fuck me.”   
  
“What are you doing talking about my case, huh? What do you think is gonna happen?”   
  
“I don’t know, I just found out what she does and mentioned that you being here was bullshit and it wouldn’t have happened if you had a legit lawyer back then.”   
  
Mickey briefly considers taking Ian at face value. That he’s just trying to help. And he has absolutely no idea what bringing up his case will stir up. Hope is a son of a bitch, though, and Mickey wants absolutely nothing to do with it. Not while he’s stuck in this place. He wants to tell Ian all this, that it’s better to just accept the shit hand he’d been dealt. Do his time and maybe, just maybe, he’ll see him on the other side. But he’s still not sure where he and Ian stand. He’s still half-convinced Ian will fuck off sooner or later, tired of waiting around for him to get out of prison and Mickey will be left exactly where he started before Ian started coming to visit him. He wants to tell Ian all of this, thinks that he should be able to tell Ian what he’s feeling like a fucking adult, and not an emotionally stunted, shell of a human being who’d taken one too many beatings over the course of his life. Of course, he doesn’t.   
  
“Why’re you doing this? This some fucking pity play?”   
  
“No, fuck, Mick, I’m just trying —”   
  
“What the fuck are you even doing coming here? ‘Cause you feel sorry for me?”   
  
“I told you, I want to see you —”   
  
“Trying to make up for all the shit you’ve done, right? For dumping me? Ignoring me for months? For cheating on me?”   
  
Ian freezes and Mickey laughs humorlessly. Ian remains silent, clutching the phone in his hand, gathering the courage to say something.   
  
“Yeah, I know all about the other guys. Didn’t wanna admit it to myself at the time, but I fucking knew. Besides the porno fiasco, there had to be others, right?” Ian still doesn’t say anything, face turned downward and Mickey just wants the coward to look him in the eyes. He knocks on the glass — lightly so as to not draw too much attention from the guards — and Ian reluctantly brings his head back up. “There were others, right?”    
  
Ian nods stiffly. “Mick, you gotta believe me, I wasn’t myself when I did that shit. I would’ve never done that if... Half the time I didn’t even know I was doing it until it was over and I felt so fuckin’ sick about it. I was sick, you know that!”   
  
“Being sick doesn’t fuckin’ excuse shit, Gallagher. You think I didn’t read up on bipolar disorder? I knew what could fuckin’ happen. I read the stories about how the shit people do when they’re manic ruins their lives. Something was wrong and you knew it and you didn’t do a fuckin’ thing about it until it was too late. You mighta been manic but you still did it and that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”   
  
The silence swells between them, suffocating them. It’s perverse, but the next thought Mickey voices is one he’s thought about too many times than he cares to admit. He knows nothing good can come from the answer but he was never one to spare any pain. Especially himself.    
  
“How many?”   
  
Ian sucks in a breath and finally, finally, has the balls to speak up but his eyes drop down to the table again. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea…”   
  
“Nah, you’re right,” Mickey sniffs, “Doesn’t matter anyway. ‘Cause I fucked around on you, too.”   
  
Ian’s head whips up in shock. “What?” he breathes out, confused, disbelieving. “When?”   
  
“When they released you from military jail and you ran off with your mom.” Ian’s eyes dart all over Mickey’s face. Mickey knows Ian doesn’t want to hear anymore but he won’t stop now. “I was so fuckin’ stupid, ya know? After we beat the shit outta each other at the dugout I thought things were looking up and then even after that bitch turned you in I kept thinking it wasn’t over. If you could get out, everything would be fine again. We’d figure out the bipolar shit together. Fuck me, right?” He should stop. Talking about this hurts too much. He can see it’s hurting Ian too, and he thinks he should feel triumphant. Smug or some shit. But all he feels is hurt. “When you got out and wouldn’t fuckin’ answer any of my calls, I thought you’d left for good this time. God, I called you so many times, like a little bitch. So I picked up this chick from the bar and fucked her.”   
  
“You slept with a woman?”   
  
“Yeah, guess I’m no better than your fuckin’ fairy firefighter, huh?”   
  
“Why?” Ian’s voice is hoarse, choking with emotion.   
  
Mickey shrugs. “Wanted to forget you. Forget who I was. Thought I could go back to who I was before. Joke was on me though, took forever to get it up and couldn’t even fuckin’ finish.” He licks his lips, considers sparing Ian the next part of the story, but he’s not in a charitable mood. “After I didn’t hear from you for a few more days, went to the park, picked up some twink and let him suck me off. You came home the next morning.”   
  
Ian pushes himself back in the chair, slumps a little. “Fuck.”   
  
“Shit hurts, don’t it?”   
  
“Well, I didn’t think it would feel great, asshole.” Ian returns with fire.   
  
“So, we’re even a’ight? You hurt me, I hurt you, that’s it. Don’t gotta do me any favors.”   
  
“Fuck you, we’re even,” Ian growls. “You and I both know that doesn’t even skim the surface of all the shit I put you through after the army. And how many times do I gotta tell you? I’m here because I wanna be. I know you’re trying to piss me off so much I won’t come back, but you gotta do better than that, so try again. Better yet, if you don’t want me comin’ anymore, say it to my face like a man. ‘Cause that was a pussy move and you know it.” Ian’s breathing hard now, trying to quell his rage. Mickey can see him close his eyes and mouth his count to ten. “Do you want me to stop?”   
  
Mickey brings his lower lip in, chewing on it contemplatively. He was hoping for a rise out of Ian, for him to trip up and admit to only being here out of guilt or some fucked up feeling of obligation. He’s not sure how he feels now that he knows, categorically, that isn’t the case. Obviously he doesn’t want Ian to stop and he hates Ian just a little bit for acting like that’s even a viable option. “Fuck. Fine, no.”   
  
Ian sits up straighter, relief flooding his features, mood visibly lighter. “Good. So, shut the fuck up and put this lawyer on your list so you can meet with her. Hear what she has to say, okay? No harm in listening to her, right?”   
  
Mickey’s kinda floored Ian seems to flip a switch and go from pissed off puppy to sweet kitten in a matter of seconds, but he’s learned from the best so he just sighs, resigns himself to a life where not giving in to Ian Gallagher’s every whim is but a pipe dream. “Fine, gimme her damn name.”   
  
*   
  
Mickey’s nervous as he follows the guard through the labyrinth of the prison halls. He’s never been to this part of the facility before and if he didn’t know where he was being led, he’d be worried he was about to be stabbed or some shit. The odds of that happening at any given moment are a little too great for his taste, anyway. Finally, the guard stops in front of a massive metal door with just a small window, opens it, and directs him to enter. Inside is a petite blonde woman, hair big and curly, looking comfortable in a navy blue power suit. His immediate response is to hike his eyebrows high.   
  
“You Mel Horrowitz?”   
  
‘What? Were you expecting a fat, balding, middle aged guy? Wouldn’t be the first time,” she replies, smiling easily.   
  
“Nah, Ian told me you were a chick, just wasn't expecting…” Mickey trails off, not really sure what he was expecting apart from the fact that he tried not to really expect anything or let his hopes get up too much at the prospect of meeting this lawyer.   
  
Mel continues to smile and stands, extending her hand for Mickey to shake. He takes it reluctantly and she gestures for him to sit so Mickey obeys.   
  
“So, Mr. Milkovich, I must say, when our mutual friend brought your case to me, I wasn’t sure we’d really have much to work with.”   
  
Mickey’s leg is bouncing up and down underneath the table as he readies himself to hear the words sure to fall from this woman’s lips, ready to bolt as soon she speaks. He knew he was a lost cause. Knew this wouldn’t work out, knew he’d rot here…   
  
“I was pleasantly surprised to see how correct Ian’s assessment was.” That got Mickey’s attention and brought all nervous movements to a halt.   
  
“What?”   
  
“I think you’ve got a real solid case for an appeal. Reviewing the court transcripts and your public defender’s notes reads like a textbook example of what not to do in a criminal case proceeding.”   
  
“Are you fucking with me right now?” He attempts to hold back his excitement.   
  
“I assure you, I’m not,” Mel’s lips twitch into a small side smile and she crosses her arms, leaning on the table toward Mickey. “A successful appeal rests on the amount and severity of errors made during the initial trial. Just from your interactions with your PD, we have enough to go on, frankly. It’s a strong case for ineffective legal counsel. I’m not surprised he flamed out a few months after your conviction. If he was still practicing, I’d go after his license.”   
  
Mickey can’t even be bothered to try to feign disinterest at this point. She’s got all his attention.   
  
“First of all, the so-called evidence the state presented was laughable. Even if you had done what Ms. Slott alleged there would have been no trace of any drugs in her system at that point, but she wasn’t even tested, and she was apprehended in the act of pursuing you with a firearm. At that point, her accusations were merely hearsay. Any defense lawyer worth their salt would have had it thrown out, but not your guy. Plus, the records indicate you never briefed about all your possible defense options and were coerced into a guilty plea. I suspect your PD was overworked and overwhelmed and saw your case as an easy out.” She shuffles through the stack of papers spread out in front of her and picks one up. “And it looks like your juvenile record was mentioned during remarks which could have affected the judge’s sentencing, which is a major fuck up - those records are sealed for a reason - the state shouldn’t have even been allowed to allude to any previous crimes committed as a minor. I suspect further bias because of your last name and your family’s infamy within the system. I had a hell of a time locating your case amongst all the Milkovich files downtown but obviously we can’t prove any prejudice after the fact.”   
  
“Holy shit.”   
  
“Yeah, right, holy shit.” Melanie leans back to assess how Mickey’s taking the news.   
  
“So, if I wanna go through with this, what happens?” He has to know, but still something inside him grips him, pulls him back to earth, won’t let his hope take him over.    
  
“The first step is to file a notice of appeal with the state and submit an appellate brief detailing our arguments. Now, this process usually takes a long time, but I’ve got a friend who can help expedite everything so we can get in sooner than normal. These kinds of things can take months but you’ve served a good chunk of your sentence already so I want to get this fast-tracked. Once we make it to the appellate court, we present an oral argument but don’t worry about that, I’m an excellent orator,” Mel winks at Mickey, breaking some of the tension and he lets himself laugh at that. “There are a few different outcomes. They can affirm the decision and we’d be shit out of luck, but like I said, the case is strong so I don’t think that’ll happen. Another option is that they could review the glaring lack of evidence but still think you’re guilty and modify your sentence. But,” Mel pauses, Mickey’s sure for dramatic fucking effect. “The ideal scenario is that they vacate the conviction because of the lack of proper legal representation - and one of two things could happen here. They’d acquit right then and there or you’d be entitled to a new trial. Since we’re also going after the lack of sufficient evidence, I believe the judge will throw that out and the state can’t proceed with another trial with zero evidence so they’ll decline a retrial altogether. Either way Mr. Milkovich, you’d be free.”   
  
“Jesus fuck.”   
  
Melanie laughs brightly, firmly won over by the man sitting across from her. “Although I’d like to, we won’t be able to get you out of here while we await our court date due to the severity of the accused crime and length of the awarded sentence.”   
  
“Shit, I didn’t even think that was an option.”   
  
“Sometimes, but again, your circumstances won’t allow it.”   
  
“I can’t pay you,” Mickey announces suddenly. “I was broke as fuck before I got locked up and unless you take cigarettes as currency…”   
  
“Don’t worry about it,” she says with a wave of her hand. “I work pro bono cases all the time, and I’m considering this a personal favor to Ian. I’ll collect from him,” she winks again and Mickey tries hard to fight back a smile. “So, Mr. Milkovich, what do you say? Are we moving forward?”   
  
“Fuck yes,” Mickey enthuses. “And call me Mickey.”   
  
“Good, because I’ve already submitted the paperwork. All we need to do now is wait to hear back about when our date is set.”   
  
Mickey grins back. “You’re a shark, ain’t ya Mel?”   
  
“Fucking right. You’re in good hands, Mickey.” Melanie quickly gathers her paperwork and stuffs it back into her briefcase before standing up and thrusting her hand in Mickey’s face to shake again. He takes it automatically and Melanie leaves in a blur. Before he realizes she’s gone, he’s alone in the room, dazed and confused and wondering what exactly the fuck just happened.    



	3. Electric

* * *

  
A few weeks after their tension-filled visit and Mickey’s meeting with Melanie, Ian’s finally back in the familiar yet uncomfortable seat of the visitor’s room after his work schedule once again prevented him from regular visits. Mickey walking out of the back, with a smile on his face, and swagger in his step has Ian perking up immediately. He hasn’t seen Mickey this happy in a long, long time.  
  
His hand darts to the receiver as soon as Mickey sits across from him, beaming, and he physically can’t help but return a smile. “What’s got you in such a good mood, Mick? Pudding day in the cafeteria?”  
  
Mickey chuckles and shakes his head, clearly wanting to draw this tease out. “Nah, man. But I think you should congratulate me.”  
  
“Holy shit, did you get your date already? That was fuckin’ fast.” Melanie had brought him up to speed on Mickey’s case and promised to keep him informed of any and all updates, but he hadn’t heard from her in a few days.  
  
“Shit, man, I wish. No, but uh, something just as good.”  
  
Mickey bites his lip, staring up at Ian through the glass barrier and Ian doesn’t think it’s fair how cute Mickey is being. It’s a struggle not to dive through the glass and jump Mickey in the middle of the prison’s visitation room.  
  
“Come on, don’t leave me hanging! What happened?!”  
  
“So a while back, Svet came to see me. Talking about some throuple shit with Kev and Vee, I don’t know I wasn’t really trying to hear about it.”  
  
“Yeah,” Ian frowns, remembering. “Saw the three of them together once. What the fuck is that?”  
  
“Fuck if I know, man, it’s weird as shit, but works out pretty well for me, actually.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“‘Cause you’re looking at a free man.”  
  
Ian blinks, not quite understanding where Mickey’s going with this.  
  
“Svet said something about immigration being on her ass, needed a husband - or wife, I guess - that wasn’t locked up so she sent over divorce papers…”  
  
Ian doesn’t hear the rest of Mickey’s explanation, his ears fill with rushing blood, mind swarms with endless scenarios of him and Mickey free to just be together, to be happy, to not have anyone else involved in their relationship…  
  
“Holy fuck, Mick.”  
  
“I know,” Mickey’s smiling from ear to ear. “Can’t believe I’m a 22-year-old divorced gay guy, but what are ya gonna do? Fuck, this feels good.”  
  
A memory hits Ian, unbidden. He’s sixteen years old, bruises littering his body, still sore to the touch, standing in front of the boy he loves, begging him not to go through with a sham of a wedding. Putting his heart on the line and getting it stomped on in return. He blinks back tears. “Thought it didn’t really matter to you. That it was just a piece of paper?”  
  
Mickey looks back at him, features soft, and Ian thinks he’s trying to say a hell of a lot more than he can because of where they are. “Nah, not to me, not right now.”  
  
Ian’s heart swells and his hatred for the stupid piece of fiberglass that prevents him from being able to touch Mickey intensifies. Another memory forms and he smirks as he raises his hand slowly to the glass, fingers low, just barely peeking over the bottom partition, eager to see what Mickey will do. Mickey rolls his eyes and shakes his head, obviously thinking Ian’s a soppy idiot, but he glances around quickly and briefly touches his palm to the other side before dropping his hand and clearing his throat.   
  
Ian laughs cheerfully. He feels invincible, untouchable, so stupidly in love.   
  
***  
  
It’s hard for Mickey to believe how happy he could be in fucking prison. Especially after the first few months when the darkness threatened to swallow him whole. When he couldn’t run from the shadows of his past, the demons that haunted him every night. He didn’t think he’d ever see the light again. Hell, he’d been planning on escaping this shithole because he wasn’t sure how long he’d survive. He often wonders what would have happened if he and Damon actually went through with their escape plan. Would they have made it to Mexico like they had planned? He knew part of his idea included seeking Ian out and asking him to go with him. One last ditch effort at a happy ending. Or one last great fuck, at least. Would Ian have come with him? Abandoned his fancy new job, his put together life, his family? He’s kind of glad he’ll never have the answers, but with how Ian came back to him, he hopes the answer would have been yes.   
  
But he _is_ happy — inexplicably, apparently, to the other inmates and guards — and it sure as hell isn't because of the extensive literary collection in the library or the first-class recreational equipment in the yard. No, it’s because every week, like clockwork, a redheaded idiot with a laugh that sets his soul on fire shows up to see _him_.   
  
It had been a shock to get used to in the beginning. Mickey wasn’t sure if he should even let himself get used to it, but week after week Ian showed up. Set him up with a lawyer so he could possibly get out of this hellhole. Gave him hope that maybe he actually had a chance at winning his appeal and that he wasn’t fucked for life - or at least destined to rot in federal prison for the next 8 to 15 years. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting that first day when Ian showed up out of the blue, but he definitely got more than he bargained for.   
  
And the way Ian looks at him during their visits sends electricity shooting through his veins. When Ian looks at him like he still fucking knows him, knows every part of him after all this time, it sets Mickey on edge, all his senses firing on every cylinder. When their eyes meet during a conversational lull and the memories of their life together _before _come flooding back, unbidden, Mickey knows there was never any hope that he would ever be able to walk away from Ian Gallagher.   
  
Ian is the ending — and the beginning and the middle — of his story. He couldn’t admit it for a long time when they first started fucking around, but he and Ian were bound together. Their fates intertwined ever since the moment Ian burst through his room armed with a tire iron and righteous indignation about Mickey stealing something from someone he cared about at the time. There was no escaping Ian. He knows that know. He’s pretty sure Ian knows it, too.   
  
He tried kidding himself for a while, after what he thought was Ian’s last visit. Thought it would be best for everyone involved if he forgot they were ever together. When he got out, he would have let the love of his life go, moved on, because that’s what Ian would have done and there was no fucking way he’d be pining after Gallagher like some lovesick fool after all that time. He vowed he wouldn’t seek Ian out, he’d let him live his life without Mickey, like he thought Ian wanted.   
  
But he couldn’t forget Ian, couldn’t break free from the situation he found himself returning to time and time again. Didn’t want to, not anymore. That line of thinking only lasted so long once he and Damon started concocting their hair-brained scheme because Mickey knew he couldn’t let Ian go without one more chance. Didn’t need to now that Ian was better and was slowly but surely proving that he wanted to be in Mickey’s life any way he could. He has no fucking clue what will happen if he gets out , he’s filled with hope, letting the light shine through little by little. Green eyes, red hair, and white skin littered with freckles became his salvation.   
  
It’s a precarious situation to put himself in. Being at the mercy of Ian Gallagher, yet again. But at this point in his life, Mickey’s used to it. Maybe this time it’ll finally pay off.   
  
“Milkovich. Mail call.” Mickey’s trip down memory lane is rudely interrupted with a letter to the face courtesy of a chuckling CO. He sits up and turns the letter around to read the return address quickly before ripping it open.  
  
He forgets to breathe as he scans the paper for the piece of information that he’s been waiting to learn for what feels like forever.  
  
“Fuck,” Mickey breathes out as he reads the date and checks the calendar he and Damon keep in their cell. His case will be presented to the appellate court in four fucking weeks. Mickey falls back onto his bunk, feeling lightheaded and slightly like he’s going to be sick. “Holy fuck.”   
  
***  
  
“So,” Ian hazards with only two weeks left until Mickey’s trial during visitation hours, “Mel says you should prepare a positive decision plan.”   
  
“What the fuck does that even mean?” Even though Ian can tell Mickey is practically jumping out of his skin at the prospect of being free, he wants to make sure Mickey knows how real the possibility of getting out is.  
  
“Like, what are you gonna do when you win the appeal.”  
  
“If I win the appeal,” Mickey argues.  
  
“When you win the appeal,” Ian continues, unfazed, “you gotta have a plan. Where are you gonna stay? What are you gonna do for work? That kinda shit.”  
  
“Fuck, I don’t know, haven’t really thought about it.” Mickey’s gnawing on his lip now, one of his old nervous habits that Ian can’t help but find ridiculously adorable and sexy all at once.  
  
“I know,” Ian rolls his eyes. “Which is why we’re talking about it now. Obviously, you’ll need to save up for a while before you can get a place, so you wanna stay somewhere for free.”  
  
“Shit, maybe I can crash at Mandy’s? I definitely don’t wanna go back to my dad’s house. No fuckin’ clue where he is right now. Don’t wanna chance it if he’s not locked up somewhere.”  
  
“Yeah, that would definitely not be an—” Ian holds up the paper Melanie gave him to prepare Mickey for life after the trial and reads verbatim “— environment conducive to reentering and assimilating back to civilian life.”   
  
“You can say that again,” Mickey snorts, Ian knows, at the thought of the Milkovich home helping anyone get used to polite society.  
  
Ian’s been mulling over an idea ever since Mel gave him all this information on helping Mickey once he’s a free man. Probably a terrible idea. The worst idea he could possibly ever have. He’d be stupid to even suggest it. “Why don’t you stay with me?”  
  
Ian never claimed to be a smart man.  
  
Mickey stares back at Ian warily. Ian knows he’s weighing the pros and cons, understanding the gravity of the situation. Mickey was never really one to accept help in the past, but Ian hopes he knows that he needs to now. That he won’t survive on his own.   
  
“I don’t know, man. That’s probably not the best idea, I mean you and me…”  
  
“Not about that,” Ian cuts in and he swears Mickey’s eyes flash with pain, but it’s gone quicker than it came. “Everyone’s sort of scattered to the wind right now so there’s plenty of room. You’ll have a bed at least.”  
  
Mickey still doesn’t look convinced.  
  
“It’ll be a strictly platonic roommate situation, I swear. I’ll help you look for a job and a place that way you won’t need to stay there for long. Just to get you back on your feet.”  
  
Mickey stares back at Ian and he hates that he can’t read the look on the other man’s face for once. Finally, Mickey gives a small nod. “Alright, I guess that would work. It’s just temporary, right? Can’t be that bad.”  
  
Ian nods back. Living with his ex-boyfriend who he’s still madly in love with? Seeing him nearly naked coming out of the shower? When he first wakes up and he’s still sleepy and grumpy and his hair sticks up all over the place and he knows he'll have to physically restrain himself from trying to kiss the shit out of him? No, that’s not a recipe for disaster whatsoever.   
  
*  
  
Ian’s sitting on the front porch steps chain smoking through his pack of Marlboros. He checks his watch for what he feels like the hundredth time that day and stubs his half-smoked cigarette out on the tattered wood before throwing it down on the sidewalk in frustration. He immediately digs another one out of his pack and brings it to his lips before lighting the end.  
  
Today was the day of Mickey’s appeal hearing and to say he was nervous was the understatement of the fucking century. Mel had assured him repeatedly that their case was solid, but he knew that nothing was a sure thing. He wasn’t sure what time they ended up getting in to see the judges and he was trying to keep his shit together. From the look on Lip’s face as he let himself through the front gate he could tell he’s failing miserably.  
  
Lip silently sits down next to him on the steps and reaches out for the cigarette. Ian passes it over and props his elbows up on his knees, running his hands through his hair. He can’t sit still; he needs to do something. He needs a distraction.  
  
Lip doesn’t say a word as he sits with him smoking the cigarette down to the butt. Ian hopes whenever Lip eventually does speak, it’ll get his mind off the decision. He’s not disappointed.  
  
“So, Carl tells me you’re born again.”  
  
Ian huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “Carl needs to shut his mouth.”  
  
“Hey, I think it’s great. Real admirable.” He leans over and inspects Ian’s hands. “Did you forget to wear your purity ring today or what?”  
  
“Fuck off.”  
  
Lip pulls out his own pack of cigarettes and lights one up, settling back against the post and turning toward Ian. “Seriously, Ian. What the fuck are you thinking? Are you for real?”  
  
“Yeah,” Ian answers, slightly offended. “Why does everyone think I’m incapable of going without sex for a little bit? It’s not like I’m a slut.”  
  
“Yeah ya are,” Lip replies. “You’re a Gallagher, we’re all a little bit slutty. Just own your shit.”  
  
“Well, I’m serious. Caleb really fucked with my head. After all that I just needed a break. I even thought about sleeping with a woman for a little bit.”  
  
“No shit?”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Ian affirms. “Did you know that when I went to go get tested I couldn’t even tell the nurse how many partners I had? I know not everyone remembers the names of people they fool around with, but I couldn’t even ballpark. Fuck knows how I managed not to get anything. All that shit I did when I was manic…” Ian stops to take a breath. Doesn’t want to go down that particular rabbit hole right now. “Wasn’t my idea, originally. My therapist actually suggested it. Something about reclaiming my sexuality or some shit.”  
  
“Damn.”  
  
“Yeah. So just back off alright? It feels good so far. ”  
  
Lip eyes him critically and Ian braces himself for his brother’s special brand of bullshit. “While I have no doubt that’s part of it or how it started, you’re not kidding yourself about why you’re still holding out, right?” Ian doesn’t acknowledge him but that’s never stopped Lip before. “If he doesn’t win the appeal, you know this shit isn’t sustainable.”  
  
“Don’t say that. He’s gonna win. His case is strong, Mel said—”  
  
“Ian, come on, you gotta be realistic here. Mickey could be in there for years. I’m not saying cut him out of your life like you did before, I’m just saying you’re not together so getting your dick wet occasionally isn’t a fucking crime.”   
  
Ian doesn’t want to think about this. He wants to stay positive, needs to stay positive otherwise he’ll spiral. He doesn’t want to think about what will happen if Mickey’s appeal isn’t successful. Mickey’s going to win. He’ll be acquitted. Melanie’s amazing and she’s going to come through. He can feel his thoughts speeding up, building on top of each other and he knows he needs to get a handle on it.   
  
A faint buzzing cuts through the silence and Ian feels vibrations against his leg. His heart jumps into his throat and he tries to swallow it back down as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. With shaky hands he swipes to answer and brings it up to his ear.   
  
“Hello?”  
  
***  
  
“You need to calm the fuck down, gringo.” Damon chuckles as he watches Mickey pace back and forth in front of their bunk.  
  
“Fuck all the way off, Damon.” Mickey throws up a middle finger and doesn’t stop his march. He’s supposed to hear from Mel any minute now. His whole life could change and this joker wants him to calm down? “Fuckin’ excuse me if I’m a little nervous right now, I’m waiting to hear if I’m getting out of this piece of shit place. I’m gonna fucking pace all I fucking want.”  
  
“Say fuck again, I don’t think you said it enough.”  
  
Mickey snickers against his will and feels himself calm slightly. The relief is fleeting though as he hears a guard approaching their cell and calls out for the door to be opened. He doesn’t even have to say anything, Mickey’s at the doorway in a flash, ready for whatever comes next. “Follow me, Milkovich. Anything you want to take with you?”  
  
Mickey shakes his head, not wanting to jump to conclusions about what that question implies. Until he hears it spelled out for him, he doesn’t want to get his hopes up.   
  
“See ya, man,” Damon calls out before he’s fully outside the cell.  
  
“Hope not,” Mickey returns, smirking.  
  
Once again, and hopefully for the final time, Mickey follows the guard through the halls of the prison, flipping off inmates who have pissed him off as he goes, Milkovich swagger in full effect. They reach an area he hasn’t seen since he first arrived and his heartbeat picks up. On the other side of the processing desk, Melanie awaits with the biggest grin on her face. He still doesn’t let himself believe it. He needs to hear it.  
  
The guard moves behind the desk and starts to gather paperwork, slamming down a plastic bag filled with his belongings down onto the counter.  
  
“Mel,” Mickey pleads.  
  
After what feels like a century, because Mel is a certified drama queen, she finally says, “Congrats, Mickey. We won, full acquittal. No strings, no more bullshit. You’re getting out.”  
  
Mickey’s knees buckles and he grabs onto the ledge to stop himself from crashing to the ground, finally letting himself believe it.  
  
He’s free.   
  
  
  
***  
  
“What about this one?” Ian circles the listing he’s referring to and tosses the newspaper to Mickey who’s sitting across from him at the kitchen table. They’ve got the laptop and countless newspapers spread out all over the surface attempting to find Mickey a job. He’s only been out for a few days and Ian could tell it was still weird for Mickey to be back in the real world again so he was trying to treat him as normally as possible.   
  
It was the best result they could have asked for. The appellate judges took one look at all the evidence stacked up in the brief and granted Mickey a full acquittal. No retrial. No fucking around. Ian’s heart clenches at the thought that if he’d been around in the first place, Mickey might not have ever even landed behind bars. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for that. Or for abandoning Mickey once he was there. He knows he’s got a lot to make up for and he’s only just begun.   
  
The day Mickey got out Mel dropped him off in front of the Gallagher house and declined Ian’s invite to come in and stay for a bit. She shook her head, hugged Mickey tightly and then drove off. Ian wasn’t sure what to do, paralyzed at the sight of Mickey in street clothes he remembers from what seems like a lifetime ago, standing in front of him. No glass between them, no orange jumpsuit, nothing in their way.  
  
They fell back on instinct as they drifted toward each other before throwing their arms around one another, clutching at each other like their life depended on maintaining the contact. It felt like an eternity before Mickey pulled himself away but Ian didn’t feel like it was enough.   
  
There was no grand party, he knew Mickey wouldn’t want anything like that, but he had stocked up on beer, whiskey, cigarettes, and weed knowing all Mickey wanted was a low key night getting shit faced and forgetting the last year of his life.   
  
Ian’s ready to face the consequences of his actions. He keeps waiting for Mickey to lash out, to give him a piece of his mind, put him in his place. Yell, punch, _do something_ but so far, nothing. Every day he thinks today’s the day, but nothing ever comes. This purgatory of not knowing if or when he’ll be on the receiving end of a special brand of Milovich justice is worse than any punishment Mickey could ever dole out. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe Mickey knows exactly what this limbo is doing to Ian. He just wants to know what he can do to make up for everything, if there’s anything he can do. Sometimes he thinks about just dropping to his knees to beg Mickey to tell him what to do. If there’s anything that could make Mickey love him again.   
  
He has so much to lose, but he could end up with having it all so he has to play it right. When Mickey agreed to stay with him, he promised there’d be no funny business. That they’d keep it friendly, nothing more. It’d been awkward at first, sharing the same space again, but they quickly fell back into familiarity. Everything he’d been afraid of when he asked Mickey to stay had come to fruition. Running into him in the hallway fresh from a shower all Ian could think about was licking the droplets of water off his torso. Standing in the kitchen in boxers and a t-shirt trying hard not to imagine shoving those shorts down and bending Mickey over the counter to fuck him senseless every morning. It was hard. _He _was constantly hard.   
  
“Do you really see me in retail, man?” Mickey answers with an arched eyebrow.  
  
“Good point,” Ian concedes. “Dealing with people isn’t exactly your strong suit.”   
  
“Huh, this one doesn’t sound too bad,” Mickey says, turning the laptop to show Ian.   
  
“Projectionist at a theater downtown. Huh, that could actually be pretty perfect, Mick.”  
  
“Yeah, pay’s pretty good too so Svet won’t be up my ass about child support. Full time, mostly night shifts, wouldn’t have to get up early. Sounds fuckin’ sweet, actually. I can do all this shit they want.” Mickey’s getting more excited the more he reads the job description and Ian needs to tamp down the affection swelling inside him.  
  
“Apply then,” Ian urges.  
  
Mickey bites down on his bottom lip in contemplation. “You think I should?”  
  
“Fuck yeah. You’re good with your hands, I bet you’d be a great projectionist.”  
  
Mickey shakes his head at Ian’s innuendo and Ian smirks right back at him. Okay so, he wasn’t keeping it 100% platonic, but he doesn’t think he can really be blamed.  
  
***  
  
“Oh come on, it’ll be fun!” Ian and Mickey are sitting on the Gallagher’s couch, Ian’s legs stretched out, feet pressing up against Mickey’s thigh at the other end. This had somehow become their weekly ritual whenever their nights off matched up — curtains drawn to create a cozy, dark atmosphere, a few beers, a shitty tv show or movie, and completely unbearable sexual tension.   
  
Mickey knows spending this much time alone with Ian is dangerous, that something is bound to happen at some point even though they both had been overly cautious to not complicate things. But this had become the norm ever since he had gotten out. He appreciated everything Ian had done for him, but he knew he couldn’t take much more of being in Ian’s space. Being near him was heady and intoxicating, his own personal drug that he couldn’t get enough of. Mickey managed to get the job as a projectionist at the movie theater and was surprised to find that not only did he like it, he was pretty good at it, too. He’d been working for a month and saved every single cent of his paycheck that he could before he finally moved into a small studio not far from the neighborhood.  
  
He always second guesses their time together when Ian isn’t around but Ian’s presence always seems to rid his mind of any doubts. All he can think about sometimes is wanting Ian closer, wanting him to eliminate the respectable distance they always maintained, for Ian to tug Mickey over into his lap so they could go at it like horny teenagers again.  
  
Fucking dangerous.   
  
“I don’t know, man, hanging out with a bunch of gay dudes was never really my idea of a good time.” Mickey dismisses the suggestion for what he can only assume is the millionth time. Ian had been on his case for the past few weeks about getting him out to meet some of his gay firefighter, EMT, and youth center friends. Mickey had been putting up a good fight, but like everything with Ian, he knew he would cave eventually.   
  
Ian suppresses rolling his eyes. “Hanging out with anyone other than me or Mandy was never really your thing.”  
  
“Exactly. No reason to ruin a good thing.”  
  
“Oh, come on, Mick. Mel wants to get you out and Christian and the rest of the guys are dying to meet you. I talk about you all the time.”  
  
Mickey smirks as he looks over to Ian. “Oh yeah? Whatcha say about me then?” Ian kicks at Mickey’s side, almost making him spill his beer. “Hey, watch it, Gallagher!”  
  
“Shut the fuck up, you know I’m just gonna keep asking until I wear you down, so you might as well spare us both the trouble and just give in already.”  
  
Mickey thinks it over, relenting. “I’m not going to a club, though. Think I’ve seen enough of those for one lifetime.”  
  
“No clubs,” Ian promises. “Just your regular ol’ gay bar. A little bit of drinking, a little bit of dancing—” Mickey shoots Ian a death glare “—ok no dancing for _you_.” Mickey gnaws at his lip and Ian knows he almost has him, so he goes all out. “And I’ll buy your drinks all night.”  
  
“Fucking fine,” Mickey huffs, trying to hide a smile. “But if your friends suck, I’m leaving.”  
  
“What about if I suck?” Ian asks, raising his eyebrows suggestively.  
  
“I fuckin’ hate you,” Mickey chuckles, searching for something to throw at Ian’s head.   
  
“No you don’t,” Ian replies smugly.   
  
“Wanna bet?” Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up as he quickly places his beer on the coffee table before lunging at Ian. Ian yelps as he gets a lapful of Mickey and suddenly his arms are pinned above his head. He tries to struggle and wriggle out from underneath the other man but Mickey’s strong, and Ian’s really only half-assing it. They’re both breathing harshly despite barely exerting any effort and suddenly, Mickey realizes the position he’s gotten them in. Even though he knows he needs to move off Ian and back to safety on the other end of the couch, knows he’s in the middle of fucking up, he just can’t seem to make himself move. He can feel just how much they’re both enjoying their close proximity and Ian locks eyes with him, rolling his hips experimentally. Mickey has to bite down on his lip to keep from groaning.   
  
He’s not sure what comes over him, but Mickey grinds down against Ian to repay the favor and he’s rewarded with a moan and another surge of Ian’s hips up into his own. After a few more thrusts and heavy breaths, Mickey starts lowering his head, gaze locked on Ian’s lips like all he wants in this world is to devour the man beneath him. They’re both so wrapped up in each other they don’t hear footsteps on the stairs before it’s too late.   
  
“Oh shit,” Carl says, smiling knowingly, “Am I interrupting something?”  
  
They both freeze, Ian’s eyes don’t leave Mickey’s face as Mickey’s dart anywhere but Ian’s. At the same time Ian says “yes” Mickey answers “no” and comes back to himself enough to scramble back to the other side of the couch.   
  
“Alright,” Carl laughs as he makes his way to the kitchen. “I’ll leave you two to whatever it is you were or weren’t doing.”   
  
Mickey curses his lack of willpower as he jumps up from the couch and hurries to grab his phone and keys to stuff them into his pocket.   
  
“Hey, come on, you don’t have to go,” Ian stands up as he tries placating Mickey, but he knows they just crossed a line they both said they were committed to maintaining.  
  
“It’s getting late anyway,” Mickey grasps for any reasonable excuse. “I should get back.”  
  
Ian follows Mickey to the door but before he can leave Ian grabs Mickey’s wrist to turn him slightly. “We still on for our big gay night out tomorrow?”   
  
Mickey knows Ian’s trying to ease the tension, get them back to a more comfortable place, but the way Ian’s rubbing at the pulse point on his wrist isn’t really helping matters. “Yeah,” he says, forcing his voice to sound somewhat normal. “Can’t wait.”  
  
Ian smiles and as though he’s just realizing his grip on Mickey’s wrist, drops it and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Liar.” Mickey chuckles as he turns and makes his way down the stairs before Ian calls out, “Text me when you get home!”  
  
“Alright, mom.” Mickey spins around to give him the middle finger and laughs when he finds Ian’s doing the same exact thing.   
  
Fucking dangerous.  
  
***  
  
“You doing alright there, Hulk?”  
  
Ian looks away from where his eyes have been trained on Mickey flirting (no, not flirting, just talking, he reassures himself) with this stupidly hot guy to see Christian grinning down at him.   
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You’re looking a little green there, dude. And like you wanna smash something.” He gestures toward Mickey and the stupid, good looking jerk. The guy pushes Mickey playfully and laughs riotously at something Mickey says. Ian definitely feels like smashing something.   
  
“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” Ian says as he forces his gaze away again.   
  
“Yeah, alright,” Chris replies, rolling his eyes as he slips into the booth across from Ian. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be doing the whole friends thing?”  
  
“We are friends,” Ian defends, the whole lap grinding thing from the previous night notwithstanding.  
  
“Uh huh, I totally believe you.”  
  
“We are. I’m just looking out for him. That guy looks like a douche. And like he’d be terrible in bed. Friends don’t let friends suffer terrible lays.”  
  
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Ian says nothing in return so Chris takes that as his cue to keep talking for some reason. “Look, you probably don’t wanna hear this but maybe this is a good thing.” Ian fixes him with a withering stare and Chris holds his hands up in surrender. “Just hear me out, okay? Mickey’s been in prison for what, like, over a year? And before that you were his only real relationship, right?” Ian nods, not sure where this conversation is going but entirely sure he won’t like where it ends up. “So, all I’m saying is maybe you should let him play the field a little, see what else is out there. Like it or not, you’ve got no claim on the guy. You had your chance with other guys so isn’t it only fair to let him have his?”  
  
Ian’s quiet for some time, considering Chris’ advice. He hates to admit it, but there might be some truth to what his friend is saying. His failed relationship with Caleb and the stream of one night stands he stumbled through helped him see just how much he missed Mickey and that he was the one Ian wanted. Still, there’s something gnawing at him. “What if… what if he realizes I’m not what he wants? I put him through so much shit that I’m still trying to make up for. If he can’t forgive me or if he decides he wants to be with someone else, it’d fucking kill me.”  
  
Chris sighs, shaking his head as he squeezes Ian’s shoulder. “If that’s what he decides, there’s nothing you can do about it, Ian. But maybe exploring his options is exactly what will make him see you’re actually it for him? If you love something set it free and all that bullshit.”  
  
“I don’t know,” he says as his attention turns back to the object of his affection. He brings his beer up to his lips and gulps down the rest, hoping to drown his sorrows just a little bit. “I’ll think about it.”  
  
*  
  
Ian knows Mickey’s a bit toasty at the end of the night. Not wasted, but smiling easily, joking and laughing, in pretty good spirits. He loves Mickey like this - happy, free to be himself, even just a little bit.  
  
They’re saying their goodbyes when he sees the guy who was talking to Mickey earlier come up to him and hand him a napkin. The guy brushes Mickey’s arm and leans in close to whisper something in Mickey’s ear and it takes all Ian’s willpower not to tackle the dude to the ground and beat him to a pulp. Mickey stuffs the napkin in a pocket and turns away, avoiding Ian’s eye.   
  
In the car Mickey fiddles with the radio until he finds a station that he likes and kicks his feet up onto the dash to get comfortable. They don’t speak much, just sing along (out of tune) to whatever song is playing, neither man wanting to ruin the lighthearted mood that’s settled over them.  
  
Ian pulls up outside Mickey’s building and shuts the car off, no desire to go, but afraid to ask what he really wants. It’s been good, ever since Mickey got out. They’ve spent almost all their time together, but it’s been so hard for Ian to keep his feelings in check. Last night they had gotten close to something, but he’s not sure if that’s just because they’re both horny and looking for a physical release, but that’s not what he wants. He doesn’t know where Mickey stands but he doesn’t want to force the issue either, so he plays it safe. “Gonna have a hangover tomorrow?”  
  
Mickey chuckles, “Not an amateur, man, not that drunk.”  
  
“Still, you should have some water tonight, just in case.”  
  
“Gonna make me, Gallagher?”  
  
“It’s for your own good, Mick.” Ian fights back a smile.  
  
“Fine, come on up and see for yourself. Put your mind at ease.” Mickey opens the car door and steps out, glancing back at Ian with a smirk as Ian scrambles to follow.   
  
Once they’re inside Mickey grabs a glass from a cabinet, fills it with tap water and takes a big gulp, raising both of his eyebrows. “Happy now?”  
  
“Ecstatic,” Ian answers as he inches closer to Mickey, buzzing from the feeling of electricity he feels coursing between them. “So,” Ian ventures as casually as he possibly can, “you gonna call that guy? From the bar?”  
  
Mickey sips his water, seemingly taking a moment to think it over and if Ian didn’t know any better he’d think Mickey was enjoying watching him squirm. Finally, he sets his glass of water down and says, “I don’t know, it’s been a while so probably should put myself out there or some shit, but probably not, he’s not really my type.”  
  
Ian decides to focus in on the part of his answer that doesn’t hurt to hear. “Oh, I wasn’t aware you had one, Mick. What’s your type then?”   
  
Mickey doesn’t say anything, ducking his head for a moment before gaining some courage to meet Ian’s eyes again. The look Ian finds there makes his breath catch and against all his good sense, he finds himself drifting ever closer to the other man, helpless to stop his actions.  
  
“Come on,” he coaxes, “You can tell me.”  
  
“No, I can’t.”   
  
Mickey’s denial seals it for him. He reaches out and runs a finger down the exposed skin of Mickey’s forearm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “I’m happy you’re not gonna call that guy,” Ian confesses.  
  
Mickey rolls his eyes. “‘Course you are.”  
  
“Seriously, it was driving me crazy watching you with him tonight.”  
  
Mickey lets out a shaky breath. “Not really ready for any of that shit yet, ya know?”   
  
Ian should stop moving toward Mickey, he knows this, but he just keeps getting closer. He can smell the alcohol on Mickey’s breath he’s so close now and his hand comes up of its own accord to cup the back of Mickey’s neck. He doesn’t make a move to push Ian away or back up so Ian takes that as permission. Ian’s lips ghost against Mickey’s and he can hear Mickey’s breath start to pick up.  
  
“I don’t want you with anyone else,” he confesses. “You’re mine.”  
  
Before, Mickey used to eat shit like that up. He loved the feeling of being owned by Ian, of possessing Ian in return. But tonight, apparently, that’s the wrong thing to say.  
  
“That’s not fucking fair, Ian,” Mickey growls, putting a hand on Ian’s chest and Ian snaps out of his lust induced haze.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I’ve been locked up for a year while you were out here running around with your boyfriends and you tell me not to see anyone else? Fuck you.”  
  
“_A_ boyfriend. One!” Ian’s not sure why that’s the hill he wants to die on right now but he says it anyway.  
  
“What the fuck ever. You dumped me, remember? You don’t get to tell me what to do. You don’t have any say in who I fuck. Why were you allowed to move on but I’m not?”  
  
“Like you didn’t fuck anyone in prison.”  
  
“It’s not the same and you know it, dick. It was just fucking and I never let anyone…” He trails off but Ian knows all about Mickey keeping his ass intact, but Mickey confirms it. “_That_ was only for you, and all that other shit never meant anything. I wasn’t in a relationship trying to forget you ever existed.”  
  
“That’s not what I was doing! Jesus, Mickey.” Mickey scoffs and crosses his arms, but Ian carries on, determined. “I was a mess for a long time. Took me a while to get my shit together and realize what a huge fucking mistake I made and as soon as I did, I tried fixing it. I’m trying to be there for you but still give you some space to show you I’m better. I know I fucked up, okay? I think about it every day and it kills me but that doesn’t mean I ever stopped loving you!”  
  
Mickey sucks in a breath of air and staggers back as Ian realizes what he’s just said. He has no idea what to say to walk it back but before he can open his mouth, Mickey steps forward.  
  
“You still love me?” His words are quiet, disbelieving and it makes Ian’s heart break into a million pieces. So he takes an answering step forward.  
  
“Of _course_ I do. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop loving you.”  
  
They both stare at each other for a few beats, breathing heavy, before crashing together. Mouths opening instantly to let the other in. Tongues dive in and out, caressing another almost violently before Mickey pulls back, pupils blown. He wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb, taking a step back before protesting weakly. “We can’t do this, Ian.”  
  
***  
  
Ian closes the distance Mickey managed to create and mutters, “Stop.” Ian slowly licks into Mickey’s mouth and he melts, wanting to surrender. He wants this so fucking much, but his mind is swirling and he’s so confused. What if they couldn’t handle being together again? What if Ian was just clinging onto the idea of who he used to be? He has no idea what could happen and he’s not sure he could handle having all of Ian again just to have it ripped away once more, so he pushes the other man away again.   
  
“Don’t push me away, Mickey. I thought we were past you pushing me away.”  
  
“We are,” Mickey sighs, “But I was serious before. I don’t know if I’m ready for this yet.” _For us again._ “I don’t want to rush into anything and fuck it all up.”  
  
“What do you need? Tell me what you need, I’ll do anything for you,” Ian pleads.  
  
“I just need some time. Gotta figure some shit out I guess,” he shrugs.  
  
Ian bravely steps forward again, taking Mickey’s face in his hands. “I'll wait. As long as it takes.”  
  
“I’ve heard that one before,” Mickey dismisses.   
  
Ian caresses Mickey’s cheek, then rests their foreheads together. One hand descends down Mickey’s jaw and neck before it grips Mickey’s shirt. “I mean it, Mick. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for-fucking-ever if that’s what you want. Just, please don’t give up on me, okay? Fuck knows I don’t deserve it, but I just… please alright?”  
  
Ian reaches into Mickey’s front pocket and pulls out the napkin from the guy at the bar and rips it up. Mickey shakes his head, chuckling at the balls on the other man and once again, proving just how much this man has ruined him for life, Mickey acquiesces.  



	4. Dangerously

* * *

  
It’s been a few weeks since “the incident”, as he’s been referring to it, and his relationship with Mickey has luckily gone back to normal, resuming their movie night at the Gallagher’s. Well, the normal from _before_ they made out in Mickey’s kitchen and Ian professed his undying love for him, not the normal from _before before_ where they wouldn’t have stopped at just kissing and Ian would have pounded him so hard that Mickey’s ass would have been sore for days afterward.  
  
Shit, he’s horny. He subtly adjusts himself and pushes that thought to the back of his mind, determined to be on his best behavior because he meant what he said. He’d wait for Mickey to let him know what he wanted, to let Ian know he was ready for more, or to cut him loose once and for all. He didn’t think Mickey would decide to move on, hoped with every fibre of his being that he’d get another chance, but lately he couldn’t quite get a read on Mickey, the other man choosing to keep his cards close to the chest like he used to. Ian was going to break those walls down again, he’d decided, it was just a matter of time.  
  
“This is completely unnecessary.”  
  
“It’s not a real movie night without popcorn, Mick.”  
  
“I’m not disputing that, I’m just sayin’ you don’t have to be all gourmet and shit. Just make microwave popcorn like a normal person.” Mickey is leaning against the kitchen sink in the Gallagher kitchen sipping his beer while he watches Ian pop popcorn on the stove like some idiot chef wannabe.  
  
“It’s not gourmet. It’s old fashioned and it tastes so much better this way!” Ian argues while shaking the pot on the stove. He turns toward Mickey, eyebrows cocked in challenge. “Besides we both know you’re gonna hog the bowl the entire time and I’ll barely be able to eat any.”  
  
“I’m not saying it’s not good, man, I’m just sayin’ microwave is fine. You don’t gotta get all fancy every single time.”   
  
“My house, my rules. Now shut up and grab me a beer, will ya?” Ian hears Mickey huff before the refrigerator opens and he smiles to himself. Things had been going so well between them ever since his slip up. He had been reigning in all his impulses to push and take things one step further. And Mickey seemed to be responding — he was relaxed around Ian, cracking jokes, comfortable again after the whole mess. Ian hopes he’s proving himself to Mickey and that even though they could absolutely be just friends, they were meant to be so much more.  
  
“Hey, what kind d’ya want?”  
  
“Whatever, I’m easy.”  
  
Mickey snorts before he replies, ”Understatement of the century, man.”  
  
Ian just rolls his eyes and snickers, not caring to dignify that with a response.  
  
Ian looks around the countertop for the butter and, realizing he must have forgotten to take it out, he curses silently and turns around. He’s greeted by the sight of Mickey bent over, searching in the fridge, his ass on full display. Ian tilts his head to the side in appreciation, because even though he is trying to be a friend, he’s still human, and fuck if Mickey’s ass up in the air isn’t the sweetest sight he’s seen in a long, long time. He actively needs to shut down the swarm of memories of that very ass, in that same position, with far less clothing on before he takes a step forward.  
  
Trying to keep a respectable distance, he walks up behind Mickey, but as he’s reaching for the butter, Mickey stands up, faltering slightly at the feeling of someone behind him. Ian’s free hand falls to Mickey’s hip to steady him and Ian hears Mickey let out an almost inaudible gasp. Ian’s not sure if Mickey’s next movements are conscious or not, but he settles back into Ian, letting his back mold against Ian’s chest, his head almost dropping to Ian’s shoulder. Before Ian’s pleasure at the lack of personal space lets itself be known, Ian forces himself to take a step back and clears his throat.   
  
“Just uh, grabbing the butter,” Ian explains as Mickey turns around and shuts the refrigerator, leaning up against it. Mickey’s breathing a little bit harder now and Ian clutches the block of butter in his hands as Mickey’s tongue darts out to lick at his bottom lip.  
  
Ian’s head is swimming. He’s trying to restrain himself, not give in to the overwhelming urge to close the distance between them and kiss the ever-loving shit out of Mickey. The sound of the back door makes the decision for him and he tries not to turn around and throttle the intruders. When he hears who it is, he really needs to hold himself back.  
  
“Hello, boys.” Ugh, fucking Frank. Ian sees Mickey’s eyes widen a bit.   
  
Slightly confused as to why Frank would merit that reaction, he starts to turn as he says, “Frank, you know you’re not welcome here, what the fuck are you…” And then Mickey’s face suddenly makes sense as he takes in the sight of Frank and Monica clinging to each other, thick as thieves.  
  
“Ian! Baby!” Monica squeals as she disentagles herself from Frank and rushes forward to clutch Ian in a hug.  
  
“Mom? What the hell are you doing here?”   
  
Monica opens her mouth to reply but his attention is diverted as he sees Mickey in the corner of his eye.  
  
“I should go,” Mickey says, biting his lip, eyes darting from Monica to Ian and back again.   
  
Ian grabs Monica’s hands and pushes her back gently as he turns to chase Mickey. “Mickey, wait! Don’t go!”  
  
“Mickey?” Monica’s voice makes both boys turn around. “Isn’t that the boy you were running away from last year?”  
  
Ian grits his teeth and tries not to let his anger boil over. “I wasn’t running away from _him_, Mom.”  
  
“I’m gonna go,” Mickey mutters as he makes a break for it, but luckily Ian catches up to him before he reaches the front door. He knows what Mickey’s thinking. He remembers what happened the last time he spent time with Monica. Newly diagnosed, refusing medication, just looking for someone to validate his fucked up thoughts and feelings. He let Monica worm her way into his head because she said everything he wanted to hear. And when he saw what it was like to live like her, live the way he thought he had to, he decided to cut Mickey loose. Better on his own than tied to a headcase like Ian for the rest of his life.  
  
But no. Ian was better now. Stable. Medicated. In therapy. Completely clear on what and who he wanted in life. He could be everything Mickey wanted, everything he needed now. He wouldn’t let his mother fuck this up. He and Mickey were so close to rekindling what they had and nothing, no one would get in the way of that.   
  
“Stay,” he pleads. “I’ll get rid of them.”  
  
Mickey’s head is down, refusing to meet Ian’s eye line. “Nah, man, you should take care of that. Never a good thing when they’re both together, right?”  
  
Ian nods reluctantly and reaches out to lift Mickey’s chin with his index finger. The look in Mickey’s eyes when they finally meet his own makes his heart stop. He hasn’t seen Mickey look so afraid, so defeated since the last time he’d visited him in prison before dropping out of his life for months on end. “Can I call you later?”  
  
Mickey shrugs. “Yeah, whatever. Don’t have to —”  
  
“I’ll call you later.” Ian cuts him off before he can get any further. “Alright?   
  
Mickey nods and steps away from Ian toward the door, glancing back at him before crossing the threshold.   
  
At the sight of Mickey rushing down the porch steps and through the gate, Ian reaffirms his vow: Nothing would ruin the possibility of a future with Mickey. He would prove it.  
  
He takes a breath to steel himself and turns back into the house to deal with whatever damage hurricane Monica is bound to leave in her wake.   
  
*  
  
Ian pushes open the door to his bedroom and face plants onto the bed. Just a couple hours dealing with the clusterfuck that is Monica and Frank has left him in a foul mood. When the cavalry had finally arrived he felt like he was going to pull his hair out. Fiona and Lip hadn’t really helped much to calm things down, as usual, they just stirred up more shit and everyone left pissed off. They hadn’t gotten to the bottom of what Frank and Monica were up to, but at that point Ian can’t bring himself to care.  
  
He rolls over to dig his phone out of his pocket and resettles himself on the bed.  
  
“Hey,” Mickey’s voice greets him and Ian instantly relaxes.  
  
“Hey,” Ian replies softly, unable to keep the butterflies at bay when he hears Mickey’s voice.  
  
“So how’d it go with tweedle dumb and tweedle drunkard?”  
  
“Never heard that one before,” Ian laughs. “I like it.” A comfortable silence settles for a moment before Ian says, “They’re up to something, but there’s no stopping them when they’re on one of their missions. Sorry our night was ruined, though. I’ll have to make it up to you.”  
  
Shit, that came out way too sexual. _Rein it the fuck in, Ian._  
  
“That a promise?” Ian could hear the smile in Mickey’s voice.  
  
“Mmhm. What’s your schedule tomorrow?”  
  
“I’ve gotta do an employee screening after closing so it’s gonna be a late night.”  
  
“Ooh, exclusive. What movie?”  
  
“That new superhero one or whatever, with the guy. I bet you’d love it.”  
  
Ian grins at Mickey’s complete lack of pop culture knowledge and total apathy about that gap, despite it being his actual job. “I bet I would.”  
  
“Why don’t you come?”  
  
Ian sits up, surprised. “Really? Are you allowed to bring people? Thought that stuff is private.”  
  
“Managers bring their friends all the time, like they’ll say shit to me.”  
  
“Alright, sounds awesome.” Ian’s beaming, knows Mickey can probably tell how eager he is just from the tone of his voice. “Switching over to nights anyway so I’ll need some help staying up late. Let me know when to swing by, alright?”  
  
“Yeah, I’ll text you tomorrow.”   
  
And just like with every moment that Ian’s with Mickey, or talking to him, or even _thinking_ about him, Ian doesn’t want it to end. He always wants more. He’ll always want more.  
  
“Night, Mick.”  
  
“Night, Ian.”  
  
  
  
***  
  
Mickey’s waiting by the concession stand in the lobby after the theater’s closed shop for the night. Every few minutes he glances to the doors in case Ian’s arrived and he hasn’t noticed (fat chance of that, though).  
  
His manager, Dani, comes out of the back office and stops short, clearly surprised to see him there. She’s young, probably around Mickey’s age, and good looking if you were into that sort of thing - chicks, that is. She’s kinda sarcastic and funny but also really friendly, which she needs to be with her job, but not overly so in the way that it would get on Mickey’s nerves with just about anyone else in the universe, so he really doesn’t mind her. He nods to her and goes back to nervously glancing at the door.  
  
“What are you doing out of your cave, Milkovich?”  
  
Mickey rolls his eyes even though it’s true. He doesn’t like to leave the booth even when he has time in his schedule. He doesn’t want to chance not being near the old equipment just in case something goes wrong and it’s always best to avoid any unnecessary social interaction if he can help it.  
  
“Invited a friend to the screening, just waiting to let him in,” Mickey explains.  
  
“You never invite anyone. To anything.” Dani’s grinning a little now and he just knows he’s gonna catch some shit for this.   
  
“So?” Dani just shrugs and continues to look smug. “It’s not a big deal. He loves all this superhero shit, gets like a raging boner for Captain America. He’ll owe me big time.”  
  
And that was probably a poor choice of words because Dani’s grin morphs into one that he can only describe as “shit-eating” but before he can save face, a knock on the glass doors interrupts him.   
  
He does his best not to sprint over to the entrance to let Ian in but doesn’t hide his smile as he steps back and Ian walks through the doors. It’s stupid, but he missed the guy. Just saw him yesterday, but he always misses Ian when he’s not around. He supposes he knows how it’s all going to end up at some point. Thinks it’s probably inevitable. Mickey’s pretty sure he doesn’t have the willpower to deny himself Ian forever but he can’t shake that small, insecure part of himself, that tiny little voice deep inside that tells him he’s going to get hurt again. So he waits.  
  
What exactly he’s waiting for, he has no fucking clue. Maybe one day it’ll just click. He won’t hear that little voice anymore and when he looks at Ian all he’ll feel is hope and love and all that good shit. But as it stands right now, there’s still hurt, uncertainty, and betrayal. It’s not overwhelming like it was in the beginning, but it’s there and it sucks and he just wants it to go away. Because everything would be so much easier if he could just give in.  
  
“Oh look,” Ian says as he points to the sign over the concession stand. “Fresh air popped popcorn. That’s some gourmet shit, huh Mick?”  
  
“Feel free to fuck off,” Mickey snaps, shaking his head good naturedly. “This is a movie theater, not your stupid house, of course it’s gonna be the good shit.”  
  
“I can’t help but think I’m missing something,” Dani interjects, absolutely thrilled to be witnessing this interaction.   
  
“It’s nothing,” Mickey replies before Ian can open his trap.  
  
“I see,” Dani replies, smirking, and Mickey can tell just how much she can actually see the situation for what it is. She eyeballs Mickey as she extends her hand to greet Ian. “I’m Dani.”  
  
“Ah, the boss,” Ian smiles as takes her hand in his. “I’m Ian.”   
  
“Nice to meet you, Ian. He talk about me a lot?” Dani places her hand on her heart, swooning.   
  
“Only bad things,” Mickey reassures and Dani bursts out laughing.  
  
“I’m sure,” she pats his shoulder condescendingly.   
  
“Well, I hate to break up this love fest but I gotta start the movie soon. Go find a seat and I’ll meet you once I’m done, okay?”  
  
Ian nods and heads off to the theater Mickey points at, turning his head briefly to flash a flirty smile. Mickey’s stomach does a little flip before he braces himself, turning back to his manager who is, as expected, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. He shakes his finger at her and doesn’t let her speak. “You shut up. I’m leaving. And you… just don’t say anything. Ever.” Dani’s only response is a wicked laugh at his expense.   
  
*  
  
After everyone has cleared out of the theater, Ian and Mickey are outside smoking, Mickey relaxed against the brick facade, one knee up against the wall, Ian leaning on one shoulder facing him.  
  
Mickey’s head is hazy, too consumed with the way Ian’s looking at him to think clearly. Ian had lifted the armrest between them during the movie, getting as close as humanly possible and it drove Mickey crazy. He barely paid attention to the screen, too cognizant of Ian’s thigh pressed up against his to give a shit about the movie’s plot line. And now he feels like he’s on fire, burning up under Ian’s gaze and all Mickey can think is: _Kiss me. Touch me. Fucking do something._ It’s fucking with his head even more than usual.  
  
Ian brings his hand up to lightly brush against Mickey’s hair and Mickey seems to have forgotten how to breathe for a moment. He could be imagining it, willing it to be true, but he swears Ian’s fingers rest for a moment, dig into his scalp ever so gently. “Ash,” Ian offers, shrugging slightly. Mickey nods, still unable to find a voice. Ian sighs and glances at his watch. “I should go, it’s getting late. Talk to you tomorrow?”   
  
Mickey clears his throat, finally able to push words out of his mouth. “Yeah, later man.”  
  
Ian doesn’t seem like he actually wants to go and Mickey certainly doesn’t want him to leave, but eventually, Ian turns around and starts to make his way to the train. Mickey waits as long as possible watching Ian walk away before he goes back inside. When he sees the empty lobby he thinks he’s in the clear but when he pushes open the door to the projection room and is met with his boss, grinning lecherously at him, he knows the jig is up.   
  
“So what’s up with you and that guy?”  
  
“What guy?” Mickey tries, even though he knows there’s no chance Dani will let sleeping dogs lie.   
  
“Don’t play dumb with me, Milkovich! That ginger Adonis that was at the screening tonight! Ian, right? He was hot. Are you hitting that? You should definitely hit that.”  
  
“Don’t wanna talk about this shit,” Mickey grumbles. Dani knows he’s gay. Mickey doesn’t go around announcing it everywhere but he doesn’t really try to hide it anymore. A few casual mentions about finding one actor or another hot pretty much let Dani know what team he played for.   
  
“Oh come on! I tell you all the sordid details of my adventures in dating. Quid pro quo, dude.”  
  
“You yapping my ear off whether I wanna hear it or not and me askin’ are two very different things.” Mickey hopes that’s enough to shut down this line of questioning, but Dani’s like a dog with a bone right now. Salivating for the gossip. Mickey knows it’s probably better to give up the goods now than be pestered incessantly. “He’s my ex. Trying the whole friends thing right now.” Mickey waves his hand in the air, attempting aloofness.   
  
“With benefits?” She’s grinning again.   
  
“Nah, it’s not like that.”  
  
“The fuck it’s not!” She returns giddily. “I saw the way you two were looking at each other, if nobody else was there tonight I bet you would have jumped his bones and banged right there in the theater. And you should have, you definitely need to get laid.”  
  
“Fuck off,” he laughs and decides maybe it would be good to get a third-party perspective, with absolutely no personal interest in the matter. Other than the fact that she wants Mickey to “hit that.” “We got something good going right now. Don’t wanna fuck it all up, ya know?”  
  
“No, I really, really don’t, enlighten me,” she challenges.  
  
“It’s complicated,” Mickey sighs. “We were together for a long time, always kinda on and off, but he helped me through some shit this year.” Mickey pauses, tilts his head to the side in consideration. “Also the cause of some of the shit to be honest.”  
  
“Who cares if it’s complicated? You could cut the sexual tension between you two with a knife!”  
  
“Sex was never the problem with us, it was everything else that was fucked.” He stops pretending to do anything productive and faces Dani head on. “I don’t know, he did some shit and maybe I did some shit, too, but his shit was worse and now I’m not sure how to really get past that.”  
  
She eyes him. “Okay, so forget all the other shit right now. Pretend for a second that you’re over it, it doesn’t matter what happened in the past. Do you still love him?” Mickey answers with a small, reluctant nod, still getting used to this sharing bullshit, but he figures the truth will help Dani make an accurate assessment of the situation. Fuck knows he can’t. “You think he still loves you?”  
  
Mickey nods again, “Told me so a couple of weeks ago.”  
  
“So what’s the problem?!” Mickey remains silent, gnawing his lip to try to avoid any more conversation. “Look, I don’t know what went down between you two but if you still love each other, you owe it to yourself to give it another shot. People grow and change, they get past bad shit all the time. I’m sure you’re not the same guy you were when shit went sideways, right?” Mickey shakes his head. “So, what do you have to lose?”  
  
Mickey doesn’t answer, just continues to bite his lip and turns his attention back to work, threading the film back through the the projector to have it ready for the morning showing. He knows the answer and it hurts too much to say it out loud, let alone admit it to himself. Because if he lets Ian in again and they don’t make it, he knows exactly what he’ll lose.   
  
Everything.  
  
  
  
***  
  
Ian’s only half aware of the direction he’s sprinting, letting his body run on autopilot as he flees the house. Fiona’s words echo in his mind over and over again but he can’t believe them. Doesn’t think they’re true because there has to be some kind of mistake. He just saw Monica the other day. There’s no way. She can’t be…  
  
Ian doesn’t let himself think it. Just keeps putting one foot in front of the other at a speed that at any other time would be impressive, but right now doesn’t matter.  
  
He dashes up the stairs and starts pounding on the wooden door. He doesn’t know what time it is, doesn’t know if Mickey will be there or if he’ll be awake. All he knows is that he needs to see Mickey. He bangs again.  
  
Thankfully, after a few moments he hears Mickey’s disgruntled voice on the other side of the door. “Jesus Christ, hold your fuckin’ horses! I’m coming!”  
  
Mickey whips open the door, clearly pissed off, but his expression falls as soon as he sees Ian’s face. “Ian? What the hell happened? What’s wrong?”  
  
“It’s Monica,” he manages to croak out.  
  
“What’d she do this time?”  
  
And it hits Ian then, the truth of the words he’s about to speak. Feels it cut deep into his heart. He crumbles into Mickey’s arms and lets the tears fall.  
  
“She died. Monica’s dead.”  
  
*  
  
Mickey hands over a beer before he plops down onto the couch next to Ian, turning toward him. Ian’s already told Mickey all he knows about how Monica died - a cerebral hemorrhage and not, as they first expected, an overdose. He hadn’t been at the hospital when it happened, couldn’t be bothered to deal with yet another one of Monica’s breakdowns, too pissed off with how she always tried to insert herself back into his life like no time had passed since the last time she fucked her family over.   
  
He’ll remember the moments just before he answered Fiona’s phone call for the rest of his life. Dreading the news that his mother had OD’d on drugs she shouldn’t have been on or was in the midst of a downward spiral because she wasn’t taking the meds she should have been. He was annoyed about having to hear about either outcome, but the instant Fiona started to speak he felt his heart shatter.   
  
Ian gratefully gulps down half the bottle even though he knows he should probably drink slower. From the way Mickey’s looking at him, he thinks the other man probably knows that, too.   
  
“You can say it, I’m not gonna go off on you,” Ian tells him.  
  
Mickey sighs, like he doesn’t want to think the way he does, doesn’t want to voice his concerns, but he does so anyway. “You sure you’re gonna be okay with your meds and everything? I know this is sorta an extenuating circumstance, but still…”  
  
“I’ll be okay,” Ian reassures him. He knows Mickey’s trying to tread lightly, knows that him showing concern about anything related to Ian’s bipolar disorder is a touchy subject, or at least it used to be. Ian can see it for what it is now. Knows that it’s because Mickey cares.   
  
“Not just the mixing,” Mickey clarifies as he reaches over to the coffee table and picks up a freshly rolled blunt, lighting it before he continues. “This kinda stuff can trigger episodes, just gotta be vigilant and shit.”  
  
“I know,” Ian smiles at Mickey’s concern. “Thanks for looking out for me, Mick, but I’ll be fine. I’m sure everyone is gonna be watching me like a hawk, anyway. Make sure I don’t do anything crazy.”  
  
“Goes for me too,” Mickey says after he takes two puffs and passes the blunt over to Ian. “We’re not together anymore so I don’t give a shit if you get pissed at me for looking out for you.”  
  
It feels like the reality of the situation hits Ian all over again - because he knows that even though they’ve been spending all their free time together since Mickey got out, that they’re not actually back together. He feels even shittier than he did two minutes ago because he doesn’t know if or when they ever will be. But he’s still so lucky because despite how he treated Mickey, he’s still there in front of him, worried about his well-being, comforting him during his time of need.   
  
He doesn’t say anything back, doesn’t know what he could possibly say that won’t ruin the moment between them. So he takes two quick hits, one right after the other and passes the blunt back to Mickey. It goes back and forth between them until it’s almost finished. Mickey looks at it contemplatively and takes a hit before motioning Ian over to him. “C’mere.”  
  
Ian leans in toward Mickey as he takes another hit, turns the roach around and places it in his mouth. Ian gets up close and Mickey cups his hands around Ian’s mouth to keep the smoke in. Ian’s hands cover his and Ian closes his eyes as Mickey breathes out while he breathes in. Ian opens his eyes slowly and pulls the roach from Mickey’s lips, Mickey’s hands fall to rest on Ian’s cheek, thumbs stroking softly.   
  
“Come with me to the funeral?” He asks because he needs Mickey there, won’t be able to get through the ordeal without him.  
  
“Okay.” Mickey nods and lets his hands and eyes fall to his lap before bringing his gaze back up to meet Ian’s. “Stay tonight?”  
  
He knows it’s because Ian’s been drinking and smoking and Mickey doesn’t want him out wandering the streets alone, but fuck, it feels good that Mickey wants him here. It’s probably all in his head, but he feels like he can see Mickey’s walls tumbling down in front of his eyes. He knows tonight’s not the night, now isn’t the time, but he breathes in and takes solace in the possibility of everything happening sometime soon.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
*  
  
It’s little more than a bare bones service. Everyone gets to say their peace about Monica, not all of it is heartwarming or nostalgic, but they all seem to be on their best behavior. Or as good as it gets for a Gallagher.   
  
Oddly enough, it’s Frank’s speech that gets to him the most because he knows there’s truth behind some of the bullshit. Monica had a funny way of showing it and sometimes it was hard to believe because she was constantly leaving, but she loved her family. On her best, most lucid days, she was caring and kind and went out of her way to show affection for her kids. Even during her mania, her tendencies usually veered toward lavishing them with gifts they couldn’t afford and time spent doing things they shouldn’t have been doing, but at least they were together. It was just that she was weak. Too easily manipulated by Frank, too tempted by drugs, or too easily distracted by a shiny object.  
  
And then the guilt and shame would overwhelm her and she would leave because she knew they were better off without her. And he can’t bring himself to hate her for that, not anymore. Not when he knows exactly what that feels like.   
  
But Ian doesn’t want to run again. He wants to stay and love and be loved. He can’t figure out if that makes him more or less selfish than Monica.  
  
As the rest of his family is leaving Ian finds himself drifting toward the casket, wanting one last chance to say goodbye.   
  
He’s not sure how long he stands there, with tears not quite ready to fall when he feels a presence settle next to him. A strong hand clasps his shoulder and trails down his arm. There’s a brief pause before he feels his fingers linked with the other person’s and suddenly he can breathe a little easier. Ian doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s Mickey, grateful for the calm that washes over him with the man by his side.  
  
  
  
***  
  
Ian’s drunk, which doesn’t really take much with his meds, Mickey knows, but he’s usually pretty good about knowing his limit and stopping before he gets out of control. Nobody’s said anything yet, special circumstances and all, but Mickey’s still keeping an eye on him. Right now, Ian’s the definition of a two beer queer.  
  
All the patrons in the Alibi are either drowning their sorrows or subtly celebrating the loss of Monica Gallagher and not for the first time Mickey wonders exactly where Ian falls on that spectrum.   
  
He figures it’s time to go when Lip of all people comes up to Mickey and tells him Ian’s drunk as hell and he should probably go home. He doesn’t argue, just quickly finishes off his beer and makes his way over to Ian.   
  
Ian doesn’t put up a fight either when Mickey says it’s time to go, he just smiles easily and says, “Okay, Mick.”  
  
Mickey remember years ago when Ian was dancing at the club and suffering with undiagnosed bipolar; how skinny he used to be. Sure, the guy still had muscles and Mickey thought Ian was sexy no matter what, but he was a lot easier to wrangle back then. He remembers easily carrying a drunk Ian back from the dugouts, screaming and singing, having the time of his life.  
  
Now, not so much.  
  
It’s a struggle to keep Ian upright now that he’s bulked up, especially because Ian’s not fucking helping at all, the drunk idiot. Ian stumbles out of Mickey’s grip, fumbling against the wall of a random building and slowly slides down to the floor claiming he just needs a minute. Mickey takes out a cigarette and lights it, letting Ian do whatever the fuck he’s trying to do.  
  
“How long are you gonna punish me?” Ian asks miserably after minutes of silence, looking up at Mickey with tears in his eyes.  
  
_Fuck_. He should have known Ian was gonna get all emotional and start asking questions he isn’t prepared to answer. Mickey rubs his hand over his face and resigns himself to his fate, sighing as he drops to the floor beside Ian. “It’s not about punishing you.”  
  
Ian nods insistently. “That’s what it feels like. I wanna be with you, s’all I want, Mick.”  
  
“Ian…” Mickey weighs his options. Dismiss Ian and let him wallow drunkenly all the way home or spill his guts and trust that Ian won’t remember a thing in the morning. He glances quickly to Ian sitting beside him, looking forlorn and knows he doesn’t have any other choice. “Before I got locked up I would have done anything for you. But then it all got fucked up and everything was just ripped away from me. My freedom, my family, my future. You.” He takes one last drag from his cigarette and flicks it out into the street before sighing and picking up where he left off. “I blamed you for a long time, tried hating you when you left me. I don’t anymore, ‘cause I know why you did it, but that shit still hurts.” Ian sniffles beside him and Mickey decides, fuck it. He grabs Ian’s hand and holds it firmly in his own, rubbing soothingly over the back of Ian’s knuckles with his thumb. “I just need time to let myself be able to feel like that again, you know? To know I can deal if it all goes to shit again.”  
  
“You can handle anything,” Ian insists, surprisingly articulate for as drunk as he seemed a minute ago, the walk or the rest clearly helping to sober him up, even just a little bit. “‘Sides, never gonna hurt you ever again. I’d die before I do.”  
  
“You can’t know that.” Mickey shakes his head. “You’re doing really well right now but nothing is forever with your disorder. That’s what that shit is. Highs and lows, a never ending cycle. No guarantees. I know that but I don’t think you know that.”  
  
“Fucking sorry, Mickey. I’d go back and change it if I could. Just want another chance, but I don’t blame you for not loving me anymore.”  
  
And that’s where Mickey draws the line. Because he’s not telling Ian how fucking wrong he is right now, won’t admit to loving him on the side of a random building in the middle of the south side. Not after all this time. “Look, you’re fucking wasted, this isn’t the time for this conversation. Let’s get you home, huh?”  
  
Ian concedes and lets Mickey guide him back, a little easier to handle than before their impromptu heart to heart. Once they’re inside the Gallagher house and he’s dragged Ian into his bed, Mickey helps him take his shoes off and avoids looking as much as possible as Ian sheds his clothes and gets into bed.   
  
But before Mickey can go, Ian grabs him and tells him, “I mean it, if you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I just need you to give me a chance.”  
  
And there it is again. That feeling of destiny, inevitability. He can feel himself falling right back into place, next to Ian, where he knows he belongs. Mickey pats Ian’s cheek and Ian’s hands fall back to the bed as he drifts off to sleep.  
  
“I know, Ian. I know.”  



	5. Sideways

* * *

  
Mickey’s putting the finishing touches on his hair when his phone rings. There’s still a little leftover gunk on his hands so he searches frantically for a towel or something to use to wipe it off, refusing to dirty his clothes. Oh, how far he’s come.  
  
When his hands are clean he sees it’s Mandy requesting to FaceTime him and rolls his eyes as he accepts the call. She’s been down to visit a couple times over the last few months and while it’s always nice to see his sister, it’s still kinda weird. He thought she’d stick to her guns about his relationship with Ian (whatever it was at that point in time) but it’s whiplash-inducing how quickly she’s changed her tune. Mickey guesses Ian won her over since she’s now firmly in the “get back together now, shitheads” camp and not shy about voicing her displeasure that Mickey is still “dicking around” as she so frequently tells him.   
  
“What do you want, bitch? I’m busy.”  
  
“I can see that,” she bites back. “Where the hell you going all dressed up?”  
  
Mickey glances down to his outfit and scoffs. He doesn’t think he’s dressed up, just wearing jeans that fit and a plaid shirt Ian picked out for him a while back, nothing special. “Nowhere. Ian’s.”  
  
“One of your movie nights that you both insist aren’t dates but absolutely _are_?”   
  
Mickey doesn’t actually have a comeback for that one because she’s right, he’s long stopped trying to convince himself those nights alone with Ian are anything but dates. With lingering touches, longing looks, and where they both leave completed unsatisfied, but dates nonetheless. “Nah, he’s having a little party or whatever. Celebrating a work anniversary or some shit.”  
  
“Ah, that explains why you’re looking squeaky clean.”  
  
“I shower regularly, fuck you very much.”  
  
“Yeah but you get especially clean when you’re gonna be around Ian. Tell me Mick, how thoroughly did you cleanse yourself?”   
  
“The fuck are you talking about?”  
  
“Don’t play dumb with me, you know what I mean. How clean are you?”  
  
It takes Mickey a few seconds to get what she’s implying and when he finally does he pulls a face. Because there's no way she could know that he paid a little extra attention to a certain area to ensure it is, as Mandy put it, squeaky clean. It doesn’t mean anything though, Mickey has himself half-convinced. He just likes to maintain good hygiene. Absolutely no ulterior motive whatsoever. “That’s none of your fucking business.”  
  
Mandy squeals and Mickey winces, wishes his sister could control her fucking volume for once in her life. “It’s about damn time, you idiot. I thought you’d never get your head outta your ass. Ian’s gonna be so excited, I can’t wait—”  
  
“Ey, ey, slow it the fuck down. Nothing’s happening, okay?”  
  
“Not yet,” she replies sing-song. “Ian and Mickey sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g.”  
  
“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”  
  
“I look forward to the attitude adjustment after you finally get laid, asshole!”  
  
Mickey angrily ends the call, choosing not to dignify her last statement with a response. He takes one long final look in the mirror, pushes his nerves way the fuck down, and gathers the essentials before he leaves his apartment.  
  
*  
  
The party is in full swing by the time Mickey arrives, he hears the music from halfway down the block and can see revelers spilling out onto the front porch and into the backyard. There’s no way Ian likes or even knows this many people so he figures it was probably taken over by one of his siblings, the small party quickly giving way to a Gallagher rager.  
  
Mickey winds his way through the crowd, desperate to find a familiar face. He spots Carl who gives him a friendly nod and then Fiona who tips her beer at him in greeting, but still no Ian. He runs into Melanie who he ends up talking to for a while before she’s stolen by another partygoer so Mickey grabs himself a beer and tries to find a place to hide.   
  
Finally, Mickey sees Ian descend the staircase through the throng of people and it hits him so hard he struggles to breathe. This whole time, Mickey knew what was going to happen, never really tried telling himself otherwise; he was just waiting for it with a sort of quiet resignation and in that moment, he’s ready to give in. He’s just seeing Ian — no flashes of pain or memories of what went wrong. All he sees is Ian.   
  
He breathes a sigh of relief knowing that he’ll be able to put all the bullshit behind him and give in to Ian when the time is right. He kinda feels like tonight could be the night.   
  
Ian finds him rooted to the spot in a corner of the living room and makes a beeline for him.   
  
“You made it!” Ian shouts above the noise as they embrace, Ian lingering longer than he probably should and Mickey letting him. “So have you socialized at all so far or do I need to drag you around to meet people?”  
  
“I just fucking got here, Gallagher, calm down.”  
  
“Whatever, you’re coming with me. You’re mingling whether you like it or not.”  
  
“Or not,” Mickey replies, letting himself be pulled into the crowd. “Definitely not!”  
  
Ian introduces him to people whose names he forgets shortly after. He can barely pay attention to the conversations going on around him, all these people seem to have opinions on everything. Seems like they do a whole lotta talking without having anything real to say, though. If he never had to talk to some of these people again in his life he thinks it’d be too soon. He kind of hates everyone here and isn’t afraid to show it. Well, almost everyone.   
  
Mickey subtly stakes out the door in the kitchen, wondering if he could sneak out the back unnoticed, but Ian catches his eye and shakes his head, knowing exactly what Mickey’s thinking.  
  
Later, after Mickey’s relaxed significantly thanks in large part to multiple beers, he can feel someone’s eyes on him. He smiles as he takes a sip from his bottle knowing he won’t have to wait long for Ian’s approach.  
  
“Havin’ fun?”  
  
“Define fun.”  
  
Ian rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Come dance with me.”  
  
“That is definitely not my idea of fun, man. Besides,” he shakes his beer in front of Ian’s face, “I’m busy.”  
  
Ian purses his lips, seemingly considering something before he snatches the beer and downs the remainder before setting the bottle off to the side. “Not anymore,” he taunts and grabs Mickey’s hands to drag him to the center of the living room where the other idiots who decided it was a great idea to dance at a house party have taken up residence.  
  
Mickey hasn’t danced for a long time, only succumbing to Ian’s will a few times back when he was working at the club. Ian had a major hard on for dancing with Mickey back then, it would drive him crazy, rile them both up honestly, in some kind of kinky public foreplay. So it’s not surprising how easily it comes back to Mickey, letting Ian move in close and manhandle him into the position that he wants.   
  
“Forget about everyone else,” Ian whispers in his ear and a shiver shoots up his spine. “Eyes on me.” Mickey focuses on Ian and everything around him seems to disappear. He’s not thinking about the bad times that have come or the rough times ahead. If he didn’t already know, if it hadn’t already been made abundantly clear, Mickey’s whole world shrinks to just him and Ian. Dancing just a little too close, but feeling Ian’s body against his, Mickey can’t bring himself to care.   
  
  
*  
  
“I should get going,” Mickey says, draining the last of his beer before placing the empty bottle on the counter behind him. Everyone else cleared out a while ago, but for some reason Mickey couldn’t bring himself to leave. Ian shifts his position as he leans against the refrigerator across from Mickey. Ian looks him over, making it absolutely clear what his intentions are, what his next move is going to be, while Mickey braces himself for what he knows is about to come.   
  
They’d been dancing around each other since Mickey got out. Fuck, they’d literally been dancing around each other all night. Constantly tiptoeing this imaginary line between friends, exes, something more. It’s been driving him crazy but he’s proven to himself that he’s strong enough to resist Ian while he’s been trying to put his life back together.   
  
The question he’s asking himself right now as Ian looks at him like he’s a predator and Mickey’s his prey is: does he want to resist anymore? After all this time, Mickey thinks he knows the answer.  
  
“Do you really wanna go?” Ian asks, voice low.  
  
_No. _Mickey’s brain supplies traitorously. It’s the last fucking thing he wants to do but he knows if he stays they’ll fall right back into each other, not completely sure he’s strong enough to take anymore heartache. Because he knows if he lets Ian back in without clearing the air and hashing out the past he’ll never forgive himself. Worse, he’ll never forgive Ian. They’ll never be able to move on from all the shit they put each other through and it’ll all fall apart again, just like it always does.   
  
He also knows if he stays he’ll never be able to leave again.   
  
“I… I should go,” Mickey says instead, finding resolve from somewhere deep, deep inside him. He’s not sure why he’s still putting up a fight, probably because that’s just what he’s used to, but he knows it’s all for show. He knows how tonight will end.  
  
Ian pushes himself off the fridge and slowly makes his way across the kitchen. Mickey crosses his arms in front of himself, knowing Ian’s about to invade his space, needing every inch of protection against his weakness. When Ian reaches him, he puts an arm on the counter either side of Mickey, caging him in. Eyes fixed on Mickey’s he says, “You can stay, you know.”  
  
Mickey forces himself to stare back, to stay strong and stand his ground, but fuck if Ian’s eyes boring into him don’t make his knees weak. Make all the feelings he’s been trying to keep at bay surge to the surface. Feelings that have been brewing and festering ever since the fucker turned up to visiting hours all those months ago, making him rethink everything he thought he’d known while he’d been locked up. Feelings that just won’t go away. He used to think that if he stayed strong, didn’t let Ian back in that any moment maybe just maybe they’d go away. He realizes that’s not what he wants, but every fucking time he thinks he’s gotten control over them Ian does something to knock him sideways.  
  
He wants to stay more than anything in the world, to fall back into Ian like he always does because despite how fucking hard it would be if it all went to shit again, it’d also be the easiest thing in the whole world. To stop fighting, to let himself be in love again. And god, does he want to stay.  
  
“Thought we were tryin’ to be friends, man,” he argues weakly.  
  
Ian shakes his head and uses the pointer finger on his right hand to lift the bottom of Mickey’s shirt slightly before dipping into the hem of his jeans, touching the skin under his boxers, teasing left and right, back and forth, that bold motherfucker. “Don’t wanna be friends, Mick.”  
  
“What do you want from me, huh?” He tries to make one last stand.   
  
Ian’s hand comes to rest on Mickey’s hip and he feels the burn through the thick layers of clothing that seem to be doing nothing to protect him. Ian’s other hand comes up to the back of Mickey’s neck, thumb caressing his cheek and Mickey can’t help closing his eyes, relishing in Ian’s touch. “You know what I want.”  
  
Mickey manages to open his eyes and find his voice again. “I can’t.” He knows what he sounds like. Weak, pathetic, lacking any conviction whatsoever. He can’t fake any bravado right now. Not with Ian’s hands on his body, promising everything Mickey has ever wanted.   
  
“You need more time?” Ian asks, resting his forehead against Mickey’s, letting the tension seep into every fiber of his being.   
  
Mickey wets his lips, shakes his head and whispers, “No.”  
  
Ian dips his head into Mickey’s neck, breathing him in. “Fuck, I missed the way you smell,” he murmurs as his lips come down to meet Mickey’s skin and he sucks gently at the nape of his neck. Mickey’s stomach drops all the way to his feet. “Missed the way you taste.”   
  
Mickey’s eyes flutter shut again, losing himself to Ian’s ministrations, letting his arms fall back to grip the counter behind him. Ian takes the opportunity to step even closer, obliterating any shred of personal space, and Mickey’s suddenly aware of how hard he is already and when Ian’s hips crash into his, he can feel how hard Ian is too through both layers of their jeans. It’s been too damn long and Ian feels too damn good. Mickey bites his lip to hold back a wanton moan.   
  
Ian continues to lick, suck, and kiss his way up Mickey’s neck but when he reaches the spot behind Mickey’s ear, the spot Ian _knows_ fucks him up, Ian’s tongue licks playfully for a second before he latches on and starts to suck deeply. Mickey knows he intends to leave a mark behind to remember him by and his hips buck into Ian involuntarily.  
  
“Fuck, Ian,” Mickey whimpers, tightening his grip on the counter, refusing to put his hands on Ian. If he does he’ll hold on tighter than ever and never let go.   
  
Ian breaks away, pulling back just enough to press their foreheads together again to look Mickey in the eye and says, “Fuck, I missed you.”  
  
And those four words have Mickey’s resolve completely crumbling. In that moment everything he thought he knew is reaffirmed. He’ll never be able to forget Ian. He’s tried and no matter what he did, his thoughts always come back to Ian. They never, ever leave. He’ll never be able to not love Ian. He knows it’s not going to be easy, it’ll be fucking hard and he doesn’t give a shit. He doesn’t really have the words to describe how deeply and utterly in love with Ian he is but he knows those four words are all he needs right now. Because they were all he wanted to hear the entire time he was locked up. He was missed. He was loved. By Ian.   
  
Ian, Ian, Ian.  
  
“_Ian_…” Mickey warns softly. “If we start this, I don’t think I can stop.”  
  
“Don’t wanna stop.” Ian nuzzles back into Mickey’s neck and Mickey’s surprised to find his hand grasping onto the back of Ian’s head, digging his fingertips into hair he’s dreamed of touching every night for over a year. “Wanna make you feel good,” Ian continues, “wanna fuck you, wanna make you come so hard you pass out. Show you how much I missed you.”  
  
“You can’t just…” Mickey begins but loses his train of thought as Ian dips his head and begins working his way down the other side of Mickey’s neck. “This doesn’t meeea—” His thought completely lost as Ian’s hand moves from his hip to his cock, grasping him through the denim and Mickey is fucking gone. There’s no more fight left in him. The floodgates of his desire are broken and there’s nothing left to stop the deluge.   
  
“Tell me to stop,” Ian says as his hands move towards Mickey’s belt to start unclasping it. “If you want me to, I’ll stop.”  
  
“Fuck, no,” he breathes out, his own hands finding Ian’s belt to work on undoing it. “Don’t you fucking dare stop.”  
  
Ian breaks out into an unbridled smile before finally, _finally_ pressing his lips to Mickey’s. It’s so, so different from the aborted makeout session from the night they went out. When he wasn’t sure, when he put up a fight and let Ian walk away. He wasn’t going to let that happen this time.   
  
Despite the intensity of the moment, their lips meet softly but passionately and Mickey’s not sure if he wants to accept the tenderness, accept that this isn’t just about fucking, like he always tried to convince himself of, or if he wants to push back, flip the script and make it raw and biting and solely carnal.  
  
“Come on,” Ian pulls at Mickey’s partially undone jeans. “Upstairs.” And Mickey lets himself be dragged up the Gallagher’s back staircase, their lips barely leaving one another. Ian’s hand flies out to the wall to help guide him as he stumbles backwards up to the steps, both of them toeing off their shoes along the way, Ian’s other hand firmly gripped on Mickey’s pants, like he’s afraid if he lets go, Mickey will run away.   
  
When they get to the top of the landing Ian grabs Mickey’s shirt and shoves him against the wall to continue the assault on his lips. Mickey can’t hold back the moan this time as Ian’s tongue dips into his mouth and Mickey's hands drift south to squeeze his ass. Ian’s mouth drops to Mickey’s neck again so Mickey seizes the opportunity to assert himself. “I’m serious, we have shit to talk about, don’t wanna fuck this up again.”  
  
Ian’s nods reassuringly as he mumbles against Mickey’s shoulder. “Gonna talk...so much, Mick. Whatever you want, just name it.”  
  
Ian steps back, hand still clutching onto Mickey as he blindly grapples at the stupid accordion door, finally yanking it open after several unsuccessful tries. Ian grins triumphantly and Mickey pushes him across the threshold, mindful to close the partition forcefully behind him.   
  
Ian drags Mickey right along with him and before he fully realizes what he’s doing, Mickey’s pushing Ian back against the wall and dropping to his knees, his hands working furiously to get Ian’s pants undone. If he wasn’t sure before that he’d completely lost it, he was positive now. As soon as he manages to shove Ian’s jeans down, boxers right along with them, freeing Ian’s dick in the process, he's licking his lips and can feel his mouth start to water. He looks up to Ian at the sound of him groaning and their hungry eyes meet each other. Fuck, he missed this.   
  
Mickey grasps the base of Ian’s cock, pumping him a few times before he licks a stripe from the balls to the tip, swirling his tongue around the head a few times before taking as much as he can into his mouth. There’d be time for teasing later, he wants Ian now. It’s been too long and he doesn’t want to wait anymore.  
  
Ian’s hands fall to Mickey’s hair, not pulling or pushing, just needing somewhere to grip. “Fuck,” he gasps, “forgot how good you were at this.”  
  
Mickey hums in return, doubling his efforts and Ian can’t seem to take it anymore. He grabs Mickey by the shoulders to pull him up, kissing him fiercely, quickly, all tongue before shoving him back onto the bed.   
  
Mickey grunts as he hits the mattress and grins, loving being manhandled by Ian. Ian steps out of his jeans and reaches behind him to pull his shirt off by the back of his neck — a move Mickey always found sexy as hell — before lifting each foot to remove his socks. Mickey uses the time to yank his pants and boxers off the rest of the way, throwing them off to the side, discarding his socks as an afterthought. He quickly removes his plaid shirt but leaves his undershirt on. Ian seems to pause, drinking in the sight of Mickey splayed out on his bed, ready and waiting for him.  
  
Mickey smiles wolfishly up at Ian and cocks his head toward him in invitation. “C’mere.” Ian lunges onto the bed, covering Mickey, lips instantly meeting again. The feel of their naked bodies colliding causes Mickey’s brain to short circuit and forget any conscious thought. All he can do is grind up into Ian, moan into Ian’s mouth and just let himself feel fucking good, finally.  
  
Ian tries to take off Mickey’s shirt, and Mickey tries to distract him but Ian persists. Mickey’s mood shifts slightly when Ian finally manages to wrestle it off, diverting his eyes away from Ian, embarrassed.   
  
“Hey,” Ian says, hand reaching out to cup Mickey’s cheek, bringing his eyes back to meet his own. “No, don’t do that.” Mickey’s silent, a battle waging inside, but when Ian lowers himself over Mickey’s chest and lays a kiss on the tattoo, all he can do is gasp.   
  
Ian reaches over to his nightstand to pull out lube and condoms, kissing Mickey on the way back, who arches up into him as Ian tries to go. Ian breaks free and settles back into his knees so Mickey can flip into his stomach for easier prep. Mickey hears the squelch of lube and feels a bite to the soft flesh of his ass before Ian slowly, carefully pushes one finger inside him.  
  
“Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking tight,” Ian says breathlessly as his head falls onto Mickey’s shoulders, pressing kisses down Mickey’s spine.   
  
“Been a while,” Mickey finally answers, moaning as Ian slips another digit in. Ian’s working him beautifully, scissoring and stretching, pumping in and out.   
  
“How long?”  
  
Mickey wants to reach back and smack him because he knows what the sneaky bastard is asking. Ian already knows he doesn’t bottom in prison, and Ian’s just fishing to see if he’s fucked anyone since he got out. Which is laughable because of course he hasn’t. He’s been too preoccupied trying to set up a decent life for himself, not having time for anything more than a perfunctory jerk nor the heart for a quick and dirty one night stand. When would he even find the time? He’s been too caught up in a certain redhead for him to even think about anyone else.   
  
“You,” he confesses. Mickey isn’t sure what reaction he was expecting - maybe a sappy look or some light teasing - but the growl that rips from Ian’s throat is probably the last thing he imagined. Fuck if it doesn’t go straight to his dick, though.  
  
Mickey pushes up so he’s on his hands and knees, letting Ian know it’s time to get the show on the fucking road. He braces himself as Ian rolls on the condom and slicks himself up, grabs Mickey’s hips before he lines himself up, and even though it could only have been a few seconds, Mickey feels like he waits forever for Ian to push inside him.   
  
Ian drives into Mickey slowly, inch by inch, burning, stretching. It’s exquisite torture and Mickey can’t get enough.   
  
“You feel even better than I remember,” Ian gasps as he starts to build momentum. Mickey doesn’t hold back, doesn’t want to hold anything back anymore and he knows Ian loves every noise he manages to punch out of him.  
  
Ian plasters himself across Mickey's back and snakes his arms across Mickey’s chest as he lifts him up to his knees. Mickey’s right hand drifts to grip the back of Ian’s hair as his other falls to clutch Ian’s ass, attempting to pull him closer despite there being nowhere to go. All the while Ian maintains a steady rhythm, fucking up into Mickey hard and deep. Ian’s holding his chest, tweaking his nipple with one hand as his other holds firm on Mickey’s thigh.   
  
“Shit, Ian, so good.” Ian finds his prostate and Mickey yells out. “Fuck, right there. Ian, Ian don’t stop.”  
  
But then he’s being pushed down and Ian tells him to roll over to his back. “I’ve been waiting for fucking ever for this. I wanna see you come.” Ian expertly slams into him as Mickey wraps his legs around Ian, digging his heels into Ian’s thighs.  
  
Mickey meets Ian thrust for thrust, neither holding back the moans of pleasure from being connected like this again. Suddenly, Ian slows the roll of his hips and pulls back, meeting Mickey’s eyes. Mickey knows that look, knows what Ian’s about to say. He can’t hear it now, knows he’ll break down and he doesn’t want anything to ruin this moment. This perfect fucking moment. Probably a bit fucked up, he thinks, hearing that the person you’re madly in love with loves you too would surely be the highlight of a good fuck. But Mickey’s never done anything traditionally and he doesn’t want to hear those words again without knowing he won’t fall apart trying to say them back.   
  
“Mickey, I…”  
  
“Don’t,” Mickey interrupts, bringing his hand to Ian’s cheek. “Not now, not yet.”  
  
Ian shakes off his confusion and nods, dipping down to kiss Mickey passionately, trying to use his body to tell Mickey without words exactly how he feels.  
  
Ian fucks Mickey relentlessly, doesn’t stop until Mickey begs Ian to touch him, to let him come. He grips Mickey tightly, pumping in time with his hips. Mickey’s orgasm surprises him, ripping through him without warning and that’s all Ian seems to need as he quickly follows.   
  
Ian stays inside Mickey while he softens and only then does he pull out to dispose of the condom. Mickey takes a moment to catch his breath and then he crawls over Ian, clutching him tightly and they both promptly fall asleep.  
  
***  
  
Ian wakes up and feels distinctly alone. He reaches out for Mickey and finds nothing, which makes him sit up in a panic. He was worried this would happen. Mickey would finally, finally let him back in but then realize he’d made a mistake or it was too soon and fuck off in the middle of the night.   
  
His mind is still racing a mile a minute when the accordion doors squeak open and Mickey slips back in, pausing when he sees Ian mid-breakdown in the bed.   
  
“You alright?” He asks moving back to the bed, dropping his boxers to the floor as he slips back under the covers.   
  
Ian shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just thought you’d left.”  
  
“Nah, man just had to take a piss.” Ian nods and tries to calm down, tries not to let it show how worried he’d been.   
  
“Hey,” Mickey says softly, pulling Ian to him and kissing him sweetly. Ian feels like he’s melting. “Not gonna take off, I’ve been craving your fuckin’ banana pancakes forever, man. Your ass is making me some for breakfast, alright?”  
  
Ian nods, smiling. Fuck, he loves this man so much, he wants to tell him so badly, but he knows Mickey’s not ready to hear it again. Instead, he rolls on top of Mickey and reaches over to the side table to grab another condom and lube. He threads his hand between them and grabs onto Mickey’s dick, pumping it to bring it to full hardness. Mickey gasping and groaning beneath him is perhaps the best thing he’s heard in a long fucking time and he vows to never let this go ever again.   
  
He rolls the condom on and readies himself up before carefully pushing into Mickey, still tight as fuck but stretched out enough from earlier where his slow pushes gently open him up. When Ian bottoms out Mickey breathes out a curse and Ian can’t help but moan at the feeling of being enveloped by Mickey’s tight heat. They rock together, pressing open mouth kisses to each other when it gets to be too much. It’s slow and soft and everything their first time that night wasn’t, but they come just as hard, their names on each other’s lips.   
  
Ian barely remembers pulling out and throwing the used condom in the trash, but he’ll never forget Mickey pulling his arm around his own body, kissing his hand before snuggling back into him, falling peacefully back to sleep.   
  
*  
  
Ian’s pretty sure he’s dreaming. Still in that haze between sleep and awake, he feels wet warmth engulfing his cock, a tongue teasing up and down his length. His hands find thick, soft tresses, threading his fingers through the strands and that’s when he knows this is better than any dream. He hums in appreciation and grips onto Mickey’s hair.  
  
He’s too preoccupied with the lazy morning blow job to register the sound of the damn door opening until Fiona starts speaking.  
  
“Hey, Ian, have you seen… oh shit!”  
  
Fiona freezes in the doorway. Underneath the covers, Mickey freezes. Ian, not having the patience for any of this, shakes himself out of his surprised stupor.   
  
“Jesus Christ, Fiona. Ever heard of knocking?”  
  
“Sorry! Didn’t expect you to have any company this early in the morning,” she says teasingly. “Is your house guest gonna say hello or is he too shy?”  
  
Ian hears Mickey groaning and since he probably figures the jig is up, slowly crawls out from underneath the covers.  
  
“Oh shit, Mickey! I’d say I’m surprised, but I’d be lyin’”  
  
Mickey waves curtly and flops back onto his side of the bed. “Morning.”  
  
“Finally wore you down, huh?” Fiona asks knowingly.  
  
“He’s a persistent fucker, I’ll give him that.”  
  
As if this morning couldn’t get any worse, Carl pops up behind Fiona to peer into the room. “Knew I heard fucking last night. Congrats, bro, it’s about time.”  
  
“Okay,” Ian yells, all kinds of done with this conversation. “Both of you, get the fuck out.”  
  
“Nah, it’s alright,” Mickey says, patting Ian’s thigh before he reaches over the side of the bed to slip on some boxers. “I’m fuckin’ starving. Get up and make me breakfast, bitch.”  
  
“Work up an appetite last night?” Carl manages to ask before Ian throws a balled up sock at his head. Mickey just chuckles as Fiona and Carl retreat and throws on the first shirt he finds off the floor.   
  
Seeing Ian hasn’t moved he crawls onto the bed and straddles the other man, cupping his face as he kisses him sweetly. “Come on tough guy, there’ll be plenty of opportunities for morning blow jobs, so stop pouting.”  
  
Ian’s hands drift down Mickey’s back to land on his ass, squeezing gently and he can’t help but rock up into Mickey. “That a promise?”  
  
Mickey kisses him one more time before nodding and rolling off the bed to make his way to the door.   
  
They’re halfway through a shared stack of pancakes when the rest of the Gallagher clan comes stampeding down the stairs.   
  
“Hey Fi, can I have Ian’s room now that he’s gonna be gone all the time?” Carl asks as he rummages through the refrigerator for something to eat.  
  
“Hey,” Ian protests from behind the breakfast bar. “I’m not going anywhere, my shit isn’t up for grabs.”  
  
“Yeah, okay, you and Mickey are back together right?”  
  
Ian glances at Mickey for confirmation, who just rolls his eyes and nods like it’s the easiest answer in the world.   
  
“Okay, so, it was nice knowing ya, man, but you shack up with your boyfriends pretty much immediately. Your room ain’t sacred, I call dibs.”  
  
“I don’t do that,” Ian frowns.  
  
Fiona snorts as she pours her coffee and when she looks up Ian’s giving her a death glare. “I’m sorry, Ian, but Carl’s right. You totally do.”  
  
“No, I don’t.”  
  
“Why’d you start living with Mickey the second he came out then?” Fiona counters.  
  
“That doesn’t count. We’d been together for years. And there were extenuating circumstances.”  
  
“Okay, what about the firefighter guy? You went on like two dates and then we didn’t see you for months.”  
  
Ian tenses up and shoots Mickey a quick look to gauge his reaction. He’s avoiding Ian’s eye line and he wonders briefly how easy it would be to hide his brother’s body.  
  
“Carl, shut up.” Ian moves behind Mickey and mimes slitting his throat in a silent threat.  
  
“And that’s probably my cue to leave,” Mickey says, stuffing a pancake in his mouth.   
  
“Hey, no, don’t go.” Ian’s up and chasing after Mickey as he hears a smack and Fiona say, “Nice going, dumb ass,” as he climbs the stairs. He intercepts Mickey on the second floor landing. “Don’t listen to them, they don’t know what they’re talking about.”  
  
“Nah, it’s fine. I gotta get back to my place and get ready for work anyway. It wasn’t what they said.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Ian worries his lip, wrapping Mickey up in his arms, pulling him close.  
  
“Positive.”  
  
Ian doesn’t want to let Mickey go, he just wants to lock them in his room and spend the entire day in bed. “Call outta work,” he implores, sucking on Mickey’s neck in an attempt to sway him.  
  
“I can’t,” Mickey groans. “Fucking wish I could, but I gotta go.” Mickey laughs at the pout on Ian’s face and bats his roaming hands away. “Got rent and bills and shit.” Ian just hums as he latches back onto Mickey’s neck and takes another shot at convincing him to stay. “Although, according to your brother and sister I might have a roommate to split the costs with pretty soon, so maybe…”  
  
Ian swats Mickey’s ass indignantly as he scurries away and follows him up to his room, watching from the doorway as Mickey gets dressed.   
  
Ian feels like a puppy dog as he trails after Mickey once he’s fully clothed and making his way down the front staircase. Ian grabs Mickey’s hips firmly and kisses him, stopping himself before he gets carried away.  
  
“Come over tonight,” Mickey suggests. “We can hang out and talk and stuff.”  
  
“Mmm, I like the ‘and stuff’ part. I’ll be there,” he grins and swoops in for another kiss. “Text me when you’re off.”  
  
Mickey lifts up on his toes for one last lingering kiss before he tears himself away. Ian looks at his watch once Mickey’s out of sight, lamenting his inability to speed up time.   
  
***  
  
On the way home from work Mickey texts Ian telling him when he’ll be back and to come over whenever after that. It should surprise him that he barely has time to change out of his work clothes before there’s a knock on the door, but this is Ian he was talking about.  
  
He opens the door, grin on his face, and leans against the door frame.  
  
“Fuck, how is this fair?” Ian groans as his head falls back. “How do you expect me to have a serious conversation when you look like that?” He waves his hand up and down in Mickey’s direction.  
  
“It’s just sweats, man,” Mickey replies with a chuckle as Ian crosses the threshold and cradles Mickey’s head with his hands before kissing him just a little too long for a simple hello kiss, but Mickey’s not complaining. When they finally break free Mickey reaches for Ian’s shirt and grips it. “I forgot how horny your ass is.”  
  
Ian hums and bumps their hips together. “Especially when it involves your ass.”  
  
Mickey pushes him playfully and heads to the kitchen while Ian flops down on the couch. He tries to prepare himself for the serious turn the night is going to take, but as he walks toward where Ian’s made himself comfortable, he knows a few minutes of some awkwardness to stave off any potential problems is worth it. Ian’s worth it.   
  
He passes Ian a water but before he can even sit down, Ian promptly puts it on the coffee table, grabs the bottle in Mickey’s hand and does the same before pulling on Mickey’s hand until he finally gets the hint and lets himself be dragged onto Ian’s lap. Ian’s hands rest low on Mickey’s back, keeping him in place while Mickey’s hands come up to the back of Ian’s head to play with the hair on the nape of his neck. Their lips meet in a tender, slow kiss, tongues coming out to play.  
  
Ian pulls back slowly and breathes into Mickey, “I gotta ask you something.” Mickey rests his forehead against Ian’s for a moment before he shifts back just enough to see Ian clearly. “So don’t take this the wrong way, because it works out for me every time, but why do you always come back to me?”  
  
“Stop fucking running and maybe I won’t have to come back all the time,” Mickey huffs and attempts to get off Ian’s lap but he’s held firmly in place.  
  
“I’m done running, done with all that shit, Mick. That’s not me anymore.”  
  
“I wanna believe you, I really do,” Mickey answers quietly.  
  
“So why? Trying to be worthy of it this time but even when I didn’t deserve it, you were always there.”  
  
Mickey licks his lips, cast his gaze down before he starts speaking. “Back when we first started this thing, I was just a violent little shithead with nothing to offer but for some reason you wanted me.” Ian opens his mouth to protest but Mickey brings a finger to his lips to silence him. “You made me feel like I was worth something. And I know I did some shitty things to you but you fought for me, for us, even when I didn’t think I wanted you to.” Mickey takes a deep breath and manages to look into Ian’s eyes for the next part of his little speech. “But then you got sick and I tried so fucking hard, and it didn’t matter how much I fought because it all got fucked up in the end. I loved you, but it wasn’t enough, and all I ever fucking wanted was you, Ian,” he says finally with a shrug.  
  
“It was enough, Mick, I swear you’re _everything_, but I didn’t want to let you take care of me for the rest of your life,” Ian’s hands glide up Mickey’s back and around to his biceps. “And that wasn’t your fault. It was too much for me to deal with and I just kept making shit worse. I wasn’t sure I could handle the meds, never thought I’d be able to feel normal again and I didn’t want that for you. I loved you too much to do that to you.” Ian’s hands find their way to Mickey’s face, thumbs stroking along his jaw. “I was wrong, I know that now. It took me longer than I’d like to admit to realize I just needed to accept I was sick and start dealing with it, but by then you were already gone. I know it was the biggest fucking mistake of my life.” He smiles sadly. “And I’ve made some royal fucking mistakes, but hurting you, making you think I didn’t love you has got to be the worst. Because I’ve loved you since I was fifteen years old; I still love you so fucking much, Mickey. Will you let me prove it to you? I’m ready to spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me.”  
  
Mickey closes his eyes, chokes out a laugh trying to hold back the tears. “I tried to forget you when I was in the joint, but it never worked. Even before you started visiting me again, all I seemed to think about was you.” Mickey’s fingers curl around Ian’s collar, gripping lightly. “I love you, Ian. You’re under my skin man, the fuck can I do? Huh? What can I do?”  
  
Ian surges up to capture Mickey’s lips and uses the element of surprise to flip him onto his back on the couch. Mickey laughs as Ian tears off his shirt before reaching down to rid Mickey of his own. Ian pulls back and settles in between Mickey’s open legs, reaching behind him to pull a condom out of his back pocket.   
  
“Such a fucking Boy Scout,” Mickey teases.  
  
“Well, we do share the same motto: Always be prepared.” He twirls the foil packet in between his index and middle finger, pursing his lips. Mickey smirks because he knows where this conversation is going before Ian even opens his mouth.  
  
“You know,” Ian begins, trying to be sly, “I get checked regularly whenever I get bloodwork for my meds. Haven’t really had a reason to for a while, but I’m totally clean.”  
  
“Is that so?” Mickey arches an eyebrow, bites his lip to keep from laughing. “Good for you.”  
  
“I know you said last night you haven’t…” Ian trails off, unsure of how to phrase the question Mickey knows he’s dying to ask. Mickey decides to put him out of his misery.  
  
“I got tested when I got out. No reason to do any follow-ups since,” he answers, letting the magnitude of his confession settle, Ian’s smile widening. Mickey wants to get Ian’s dick in his ass sooner rather than later so he snatches the condom from Ian’s grip and tosses it away.   
  
Mickey knows eventually he’ll have to grab the lube from his bedroom and since he’d prefer not to be interrupted once things get going, he pushes Ian off his lap and starts to make his way to his room. When he glances back at Ian he looks slightly confused so Mickey clears it up for him. “We can christen the couch next time, right now I want you to fuck me in my bed.” He turns around and continues, “You comin’ or not, Gallagher?”   
  
He hears Ian launch himself off the sofa and the next thing Mickey knows he’s being tackled from behind, landing on the bed with a grunt.   
  
“I’ll always come for you, Mickey.”   
  
Mickey knows there’s a perfectly good dirty joke to be found just then, but like a sap, he gets sentimental instead. Because he knows now the truth of what Ian’s saying, knows it goes both ways. They would always come back for each other, no matter what, every single time.   
  
But he thinks that this time that won’t be necessary- they won’t need to find each other again, because neither one of them are ever going to let go.  



End file.
